Reborn Before My Captain Fiancé’s Beloved Dies In A Plane Crash Chapter 08
He looked well-rested, a fresh hickey stark against his neck.
A button on his white shirt was misaligned.
Everyone there knew what that implied.
No decent man would spend the morning in another woman’s bed before attending his own child’s memorial.
But Archer acted as if he noticed nothing.
His gaze swept over the flatness of my stomach beneath my coat.
Then he flung a stack of medical records onto the table.
“One of Chloe’s classmates is a nurse at the hospital.”
“She pulled your file for me. There’s no record of a miscarriage.”
“Your injuries were minor bruises. No fractures, either.”
He shook his head, the disgust in his eyes unconcealed.
“Have you no shame? You’d even turn your own child’s memorial into a performance for attention.”
He turned to our classmates.
“Don’t let her fool you. She’s a pathological liar. All she does is obsess over men—she has no life of her own.”
“You should all leave before she scams you.”
He said it so loudly, so confidently, as if he’d truly caught me in a lie.
If the people there hadn’t already seen my daughter’s tiny urn and the fresh wound on my abdomen, they might have believed him.
Mr. and Mrs. Bellini stepped forward, their faces grim, and tried to drag him outside.
Archer shook them off.
“I told you I didn’t want to marry her, but you forced me. Look what she’s done to this family.”
“The Bellini name has been ruined by this woman. I—”
“Archer, that’s enough.”
I wheeled myself in front of him, cutting him off.
He looked down at me, his eyes filled with that familiar contempt.
“What? You can tell lies, but you can’t stand being called out on them?”
I shook my head. I pulled my real medical records and the divorce papers from my bag and held them out to him.
“I don’t want Mr. and Mrs. Bellini to be humiliated by you any longer.”
The moment Archer saw the documents, he froze.
But a second later, he sneered.
“You think forging a matching set of papers is going to make me believe you?”
Calmly, I lifted the hem of my shirt, exposing the ugly, unmistakable scar across my abdomen.