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Perhaps in a Past Life Novel Cover

Perhaps in a Past Life

Mistaken for the other woman, a wife faces the ultimate betrayal when her husband Quincy’s mistress, Sloane, brutally attacks her. Left scarred, bleeding, and grieving her lost unborn child, she overhears Quincy coddling the violent assailant over the phone. But when the devastating truth dawns on Quincy—that the victim his mistress destroyed was actually his own wife—his world completely shatters. Experience a dark modern romance novel of tragedy, deception, and agonizing realization.
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Chapter 2

Despair washed over me, a dark tide pulling me under until the air grew thin.

I opened my mouth, desperate to speak, to call for help, but only a hoarse groan escaped.

"What was that noise?" Quincy's voice came from the phone, and a desperate flicker of hope kindled in my chest.

I moaned louder, praying he would hear my pain.

Sloane shot me a wary glance, fumbling to cover it up.

"It's nothing. You must have misheard."

He didn't doubt her for a second.

"Fine. Do what you have to. I'll take care of it."

"Love you," she cooed, hanging up with a triumphant smile.

As I collapsed, tears carving clean tracks through the blood smearing my face, Sloane loomed over me with her hands on her hips.

She turned to the growing crowd and announced, "Don't get the wrong idea, everyone. I was just giving this stalker what she deserves! This woman had the audacity to get between me and Quincy. Tell me, doesn't she deserve this?"

The whispers around me were a chorus of contempt.

"I can't believe it. She looks so normal, but she's one of those women."

"She looks so put-together, but she's just a stalker. Utterly shameless," a woman sneered.

"Exactly! So shameless!" another chimed in.

"Honestly, she had it coming."

"Damn right! A bitch like that needs to be taught a lesson!"

The searing pain in my abdomen left me unable to respond, my strength draining with each ragged breath.

Sloane basked in their support, a dark satisfaction glinting in her eyes.

She straddled my fallen body, her hand striking my face again and again until my vision swam.

My hands rose shakily, a feeble attempt to shield my stomach.

"My... baby..." I moaned, my voice barely a whisper.

Sloane laughed, a hollow, merciless sound.

"You're lucky that thing isn't born yet. Otherwise, I'd teach it just how ugly this world can be."

Her friends yanked me by the hair, the edges of my vision blurring and tilting.

I could vaguely sense a shift in the crowd, a growing unease.

"Okay, that's enough," a voice finally cut in.

"This is... this is too much, don't you think?"

"Look at her face," another person murmured.

"It's all swollen and bleeding... this is going too far."

Someone spat, "Takes one to know one. Defending a stalker makes you one."

But then one of Sloane's friends gasped, "Sloane, there's blood!"

The word jolted through me.

Blood?

Trembling, I fought through the pain, struggling to focus my scattered senses.

"My baby... please, my baby..."

The crowd's tone changed, now laced with a hint of panic.

"Wait, she's pregnant? Stalker or not, this is insane! What if she miscarries?"

"Oh, now you all feel sorry?" another muttered darkly.

"If she loses that baby, you're all responsible—you were all egging her on."

Sloane's facade faltered. She took a step back, shocked but still defiant.

"Oh, please, she's faking. There's no way this could cause a miscarriage. She's not even pregnant!"

I shifted, summoning my last ounce of strength.

I reached behind me. My fingers came away slick with warm blood.

Sloane shot a look at her friends, and they hauled me roughly from the floor.

"Fine. So eager to get to a clinic? We'll give you a ride. But remember this," she sneered, "you brought this on yourself."

They dragged me out of the estate to a dimly lit sea cliff, the air thick with the smell of salt.

My instincts screamed that this wasn't the way to a clinic, but I was fading too fast to fight, my eyes refusing to stay open.

With a final surge of effort, I forced my eyes open and pleaded, "Please... my baby might still be saved... Just take me to a clinic. I swear, I'll stay away from Quincy, I'll disappear... but please, save my baby..."

A contemptuous smirk played on Sloane's lips.

"Oh, and now we're supposed to believe a stalker?" one of them mocked.

"Still worried about that little bastard, are we?"

"Oh, that's a shame," she hissed, her face twisting with malice.

"You and your baby can just rot here together."

She slipped off the shimmering stiletto from her foot, its sharp heel tracing a slow, cold line across my cheek.

"Just to be sure," she whispered, "let's ruin this pretty little face you use to seduce men."

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