He framed me for his mistress’s miscarriage, but the moment she confessed six years later, he saw the horrific scars his silence caused.

Daniel gripped the phone so hard the reinforced glass screen cracked beneath his thumb.

"Say that again," Daniel whispered. The sound wasn't loud, but it was deadlier than a gunshot.

"She... she was never pregnant with your child," Dr. Harrison sobbed. "She had a severe case of uterine fibroids. She knew she was facing a hysterectomy. When she learned you were planning to reconcile with Clara that winter, she panicked. She staged the fall. She ingested a mild coagulant to cause vaginal bleeding before she even went to your mansion."

Every breath in Daniel's lungs turned to liquid nitrogen.

"I signed the false autopsy report," Harrison continued, the dam of guilt bursting open after years of silence. "I listed a six-week-old fetus that never existed. She paid me four hundred thousand dollars in cash, Daniel. I am so sorry. God forgive me, I am so sorry..."

Daniel hung up.

He didn't scream. He didn't smash the phone.

He walked slowly, methodically, back into the VIP private room.

Natalie was sitting up, smiling sweetly as the nurse wrapped a white gauze bandage around her forearm. "Daniel, darling! The doctor says the blistering won't leave a bad scar if we use silicone sheets. Can we go home now? I want you to hold me..."

Daniel walked over to the side of the bed.

He looked down at her. The blonde curls, the porcelain skin, the wide, innocent blue eyes that had completely dismantled his marriage, his morals, and his wife's entire existence.

"Daniel?" Natalie’s smile wavered. A flicker of deep, instinctual dread crossed her face. "What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Daniel reached out, his fingers wrapping around the back of her neck. He didn't squeeze, but his grip was iron, immovable. He bent down until his lips were an inch from her ear.

"Arthur Harrison just told me about your fibroids," Daniel whispered.

Natalie's face turned the color of raw lard. Her mouth fell open, but no sound came out. Her eyes bulged with pure, unadulterated terror.

"And my private investigators just pulled the offshore records for Danbury Correctional Facility," Daniel continued, his voice terrifyingly calm, venomous. "Three hundred thousand dollars transferred from a shell company in the Cayman Islands registered to your maiden name. You paid the guards to let them torture her. You paid them to break her."

"Daniel... no... please..." Natalie choked out, tears of genuine panic streaming down her cheeks. "She was in the way! She was nothing! She was just a nobody from the Bronx, and I loved you! I did it for us!"

Daniel released her neck as if he had just touched a venomous toad. He wiped his hand on his trousers in disgust.

"You are going to prison, Natalie," Daniel said softly. "I am going to use every dollar I have, every politician I own, every judge on my payroll. You will go to Danbury. You will sleep in the same cell she slept in. And I will make sure the guards know exactly who you are."

He turned and walked out of the room. Natalie’s bloodcurdling screams echoed down the hospital corridor, but he didn't look back once.