Dead Husband, Pregnant Mistress

"How much longer are you going to drag this out?!"

My husband, Julian, kicked the bathroom door open, violently snapping my lipstick in half.

"I don't have time to waste on a psycho. Find your own way to the gala!"

He snatched the unlabeled bottle from the vanity, dry-swallowed two capsules, and slammed it back down before driving off.

When I arrived at the gala alone, his mother asked where he was.

"He'll be here later," I said with a perfect smile.

But I knew he would never make it.

—

10:30 PM. The Beverly Hills Hotel, Los Angeles.

I pushed open the door of the Uber, lifting the hem of my black evening gown as I walked toward the red-carpeted lobby.

Amidst the flashing cameras and parked Maybachs, my budget ride-share arrived looking like a blindingly obvious joke.

The moment I stepped into the ballroom, the melodic classical music seemingly faded into white noise.

"Look over there. The crazy Vance woman actually showed up alone."

"I heard her bipolar disorder is getting worse. How could Julian let her run around by herself?"

In the cruel rulebook of old-money families, a "mentally unstable wife" showing up unaccompanied was a PR disaster of the highest order.

I lowered my head, twisting my fingers tightly together, continuing to play the part of the neurotic, abandoned society wife.

"Chloe."

A hand bearing a massive emerald ring suddenly clamped down on my wrist.

It was my mother-in-law, Eleanor.

She wore a elegant smile for the socialites. "Where is Julian?"

I flinched, my eyes reddening right on cue. "I... I was too slow getting ready. He was furious. He left me at home and drove off. I don't know—"

Before I could finish, cop sirens cut me off.

At the end of the red carpet, several uniformed officers strode in. Leading them was a sharp female detective.

She walked straight up to Eleanor and me, her gaze piercing.

"LAPD. Detective Valerie." She produced a transparent evidence bag containing a Rolex cufflink coated in dried blood and dirt. "Is Julian Vance a family member?"

"I am his mother." Eleanor's smile instantly died on her face. "Why? What's happened?"

"I'm sorry," Valerie said. "About forty minutes ago, Julian's car lost control at a sharp cliff-side bend on the Pacific Coast Highway and broke through the guardrail. He died on impact."

Died on impact.

Something in my chest—something that had been wound tight for two years—suddenly went still.

"No..." I gasped, my legs giving out as I collapsed onto the floor.

I covered my face tightly with my hands. When I pulled them away, a large tear dropped perfectly from the corner of my eye.

"You're joking. An hour ago he was home, yelling at me—he was fine. How could he..." I let out a choked sob, trembling from head to toe.

My performance bought me pity from the onlookers, but it afforded me no dignity or time to mourn.

Detective Valerie had me escorted straight back to our oceanfront villa, instantly locking down the property as an active crime scene.

Dozens of officers swept through the thirty-million-dollar estate, taking pictures and collecting evidence. Wrapped in a cashmere blanket, I sat on the leather sofa, staring blankly at the carpet's pattern like a mentally ill patient suffering from overstimulation.

"Whose pills are these?"

Valerie's voice drifted from the master bathroom vanity.

I pulled the blanket tighter and walked over. She was pointing at the three rows of pill bottles lined up on the marble counter. The remains of the snapped lipstick still lay on the counter.

"The left is mine, the right is Julian's."

Wearing white latex gloves, she picked up the dark glass bottles on the right. "NMN? Anti-aging capsules?"

"Yes. He was very particular about his health."

Valerie's gaze shifted downward. Sitting right in the middle was the small white plastic bottle—the exact one Julian had grabbed hours ago.

She twisted off the cap and glanced at the half-full bottle of small white capsules.

"What about this one? Why is there no label?"

I cringed and swallowed hard, explaining in a small voice, "That's my backup medication. I was taking a shower last week, and the steam ruined the label. It got all sticky, so I ripped it off."

She didn’t respond. Her eyes flicked past the bottle to fixate on the ragged edges of my fingernails, chewed to the quick from years of anxiety. Then, she dropped the unlabeled bottle into its own clear evidence bag.

"I took a quick look around earlier," Valerie said, scrutinizing me under the bright overhead lights. "There are none of your personal belongings in the master bedroom. You sleep in the guest room?"

I anxiously clawed at my hair, a deep sense of inferiority pooling in my eyes. "I... I have severe bipolar disorder and paranoia. It's bad... Julian said my midnight episodes disrupted his sleep."

Valerie didn't press further. She flipped through the medical diagnosis records handed over by another officer. Once she confirmed they were legitimate, she waved her hand with a cold expression.

"Go change your clothes, Mrs. Vance. You need to come down to the station with me."

Then I was shoved into the interrogation room.

Beneath the cold metal table, I twisted my hands tightly together.

Thinking back on the inhumane torture I had endured in this vicious family over the past two years, I slumped over the table and began to softly sob.

This time, the tears were real.

I didn't know how much time had passed when the iron door was brutally pushed open.

Valerie strode in.

She marched straight up to me, planted both hands heavily on the table, and glared down at me.

"Do you have a habit of taking heavy sedatives?" she asked coldly.

"No. My doctor strictly forbade me from touching that kind of drug. It would have a lethal reaction with my bipolar medication."

Without any warning, a cold pair of steel handcuffs locked onto my wrists.

I jerked my head up, my eyes widening in terror.

Valerie slammed the evidence bag containing the so-called 'backup medication' onto the metal table right in front of me.

"We found lethal levels of high-grade sedatives in Julian's blood and stomach contents. And they perfectly match the compounds inside your little bottle of 'backup medication'."

Valerie leaned into my face, enunciating every single word.

"As of this moment, you are the prime suspect in the murder of Julian Vance."