I Raised My Husband's Love Child...Then He Shot Me

Chapter 36

"Kneel and beg her for forgiveness," Jonathan said flatly, already turning toward the liquor cabinet. "Tell her you seduced me. Tell her it was all your fault."

Wendy's face went ghost white.

"Tomorrow." He shoved her aside without a second glance. She stumbled, collapsing onto the floor like a discarded doll. "If Daphne doesn't forgive you, you and your mother can pack your things and get the hell out of this city."

The door slammed shut behind him.

Wendy stayed curled on the floor, her body trembling as silent tears spilled down her cheeks. One hand instinctively clutched her stomach—the pain from the miscarriage was still there, a dull ache—but the deeper wound was finally setting in.

She understood now.

To Jonathan, she'd never been anything more than a disposable toy.

She had thought she was special. She thought if she could get me out of the picture, she'd finally become the lady of the house.

But she was wrong.

Jonathan had never loved her. It was just a passing obsession.

Not long after, he sent her abroad—to find me.

I stirred my latte slowly, eyeing the gaunt woman across from me.

No matter how thick her foundation was, it couldn't hide the deep circles under her eyes or the faint bruise still visible on her cheek.

"Ms. Lancaster," she said, her hands tightly clenched in her lap, knuckles white. "Please… I'm begging you. Have mercy on me and my mother."

As she spoke, her right hand unconsciously rested on her stomach.

"You've got the wrong person," I replied calmly, setting my cup back down. "Jonathan's the one you need to beg."

Tears filled her eyes.

"He won't listen to me," she blurted out, then quickly lowered her voice as she noticed people turning to look. "He's making me kneel to you! He hit me yesterday, Daphne. He said if I don't do this, he'll ruin me and my mom—make sure we can't survive in any other city. But I grew up here. This is all I know…"

Then, before I could say anything else, Wendy slipped off her chair and dropped to her knees on the café floor with a loud thud.

"I'm begging you!" she cried, nearly bowing her head to the floor. "My mom's old now. She can't take this kind of pressure anymore. Please, just forgive me. Just say something to him."

The sudden gesture stunned me. Everyone in the café turned to stare.

Even the waiter nearby froze, unsure whether to step in.

I took a deep breath, trying to stay composed. I crouched slightly and offered my hand. "Let's stand up and talk."

But Wendy stayed on her knees, stubborn. "Not unless you promise me," she said, voice trembling.

I stared at her, then let out a quiet laugh.

"Then stay there," I said coolly. "Wendy, you're not scared of Jonathan. You're scared of losing the Zander money."

Her head shot up, lips quivering. "No, that's not—"

"If it wasn't about the money, you and your mom would've left long ago."

My tone was cutting now, sharp with disdain. "You're not here because you've hit rock bottom. You're here because you're still gambling. You're betting that I'll take pity on you. That I'll convince Jonathan to let you stay and play the role of his 'almost fiancée.'"

Wendy turned pale, almost gray.

"Don't act like the victim," I said, rising to my feet. "I know exactly who you are. Do you need me to remind you, detail by detail, how you seduced Jonathan? How you used to flaunt it in front of me like you'd won some grand prize?"

Her breath hitched. She looked around, desperate, but no excuses came.

"If you want to kneel, go ahead." I slung my bag over my shoulder and turned to walk away. "But I'm not Jonathan. I don't feel sorry for you."

Suddenly, she lunged forward, grabbing my wrist. Her nails dug in, sharp and desperate.

"Daphne! How can you be so heartless?!"