I Took My Husband’s Mistress To Her Appointment. Then Sent Them Both To Prison Chapter 09
The lights were still on at the Sterling estate in Bel Air when Rhys returned. The instant he stepped through the door, Livia’s tearful accusation hit him.
“Why haven’t you divorced her? You went back to see her in the middle of the night, didn’t you?”
“Rhys, I’m carrying your child! Do you want everyone to treat him as proof of your affair from the moment he’s born?”
She rushed at him, eyes red, her carefully styled hair already coming loose. Her hands clawed at him, wearing through what little patience he had left. He tried to soothe her, but she only grew louder and more frantic, snatching up a crystal ashtray to throw.
“Enough!” Rhys clamped a hand around her wrist.
His grip tightened hard enough to make her wince. The ashtray fell to the carpet with a dull thud.
He released her and pressed two fingers to his throbbing temple. Exhaustion curdled into disgust.
Genevieve would never behave this way.
No matter how late he came home, she waited quietly. A warm light always waited in the foyer. Food stayed warm in the kitchen.
His towel and pajamas lay exactly where he liked them, carrying the clean, sun-dried scent he took for granted. She worried too, but she never interrogated him. At most, when he leaned against her in exhaustion, she would use soft fingertips to ease the tension at his temples and between his brows.
Rhys looked at Livia’s tear-streaked face, full of demands and accusations, and felt the last of his patience disappear.
“Livia, when you climbed into my bed while I was drunk, I told you clearly that I was married. Didn’t I?”
Her sobbing stopped as if someone had closed a hand around her throat. She stared at him in disbelief.
“You knew from the beginning that I had a wife.” Rhys stepped closer and looked down at her without warmth. “So why are you pretending to be some innocent woman who was betrayed?”
“I’ve spent more on you than you’ll earn in a lifetime. Give birth quietly, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
He paused, his voice flat. ” But I will not divorce her.”
He watched her face turn white and her body begin to shake, then delivered one final blow.
“You should know you’re not the only woman willing to have my child.”
Her lips moved several times, but no words came out. She glared at him through reddened eyes, ran into the bedroom, and slammed the door.
Rhys didn’t move or follow her.
After standing there for several seconds, he pulled out his phone and unlocked it by habit. The familiar chat with the kitten icon showed no new notification.
Genevieve hadn’t messaged him.
Not once.
By this hour, she normally would have said good night. Sometimes she typed it. Sometimes she sent a one- or two-second voice message, her tone full of quiet dependence.
He had always found it annoying. Often he ignored her or replied hours later with a single “K.”
She never seemed angry. The next night, the message would arrive at the same time.
Every night for eight years.
Until tonight.
Rhys stared at the silent screen as the first thread of unease worked beneath his skin. He frowned and pushed the strange feeling away.
She was still angry. That was all.
Tomorrow, once they were on their way to the Maldives, he would sweet-talk her out of this mood. As for Livia, after she gave birth, he would give her enough money and send her to live in Europe permanently.
It was the cleanest solution.
Genevieve wouldn’t even have to endure pregnancy or childbirth.
He considered the matter settled.
The faint unease receded, replaced by an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time—something almost like anticipation.
Rhys woke early the next morning.
He chose the dark blue cuff links Genevieve had given him years ago. Against his suit, they looked perfect.
In a few hours, he would take her to the Maldives and finally give her the honeymoon she had always wanted. A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. He could almost smell salt air and see palm trees moving in the wind.
He picked up his car keys and headed for the door, almost cheerful.
Then the doorbell rang.
Assuming it was Genevieve, he opened it with a smile.
“Didn’t I say I’d come get you—”
But I wasn’t standing outside.
A licensed process server was there, accompanied by a colleague documenting the service.
“Mr. Sterling, you have been formally served.”
A thick packet of papers was placed in his hands. On top was a petition for dissolution filed in the Los Angeles Superior Court. Beneath it were a civil complaint, demands for financial disclosure, a request for a temporary restraining order, and notice of hearing.
The complaint alleged marital fraud, forgery of court and county records, orchestrating a hit-and-run that seriously injured a pregnant woman and caused her miscarriage, and ongoing harassment and threats.
A final notice stated:
Related criminal evidence has been referred to the LAPD and the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s Office.
The petitioner’s name appeared in unmistakable letters.
Genevieve Rowland.