Revenge of the Second Choice Wife

I was nine months pregnant when it happened. That disgruntled ex-employee—the one who held a grudge against my husband, Jack, for getting the promotion he thought he deserved—took me hostage on the damn roof.

And my husband, the head of the local rescue squad, rerouted his entire team to save his high school sweetheart, Tiffany, who was apparently having a mental breakdown.

I didn't beg him to come save me.

Last time, when I'd called him pleading for help, he'd left his precious angel to rescue my pregnant self.

Sure, my son and I survived, but his first love ended up setting her apartment on fire and burning to death.

Jack acted like it was no big deal. He even booked me a fancy VIP suite at the hospital.

But then, the day I went into labor, he strapped me to the bed and killed me and our baby himself.

"You and her were in on it, right?" he'd snarled. "That little knife scratch wasn't serious! You weren't gonna die!"

"You like getting stabbed so much? Fine! I'll give you what you want!"

The next thing I knew, I was back on that roof, about to get stabbed all over again.

This time, I figured I'd just let him go play hero for his damsel in distress.

When that ex-employee, old Mr. Henderson, stabbed me five times, the blood soaked right through my white dress.

Henderson held the bloody blade to my throat, his voice raspy. "Call Jack. Now."

I hesitated, my face ghostly white, then dialed the number.

"I'm being held hostage by Mr. Henderson. He's got me on the roof of our building. You need to get over here."

Silence on the other end. No panic, just a flat, cold voice. "Oh, perfect timing. Right when Tiffany's about to pull the plug. You couldn't have picked a better moment?"

"Henderson's got you hostage? How'd he even find our new address? We kept it quiet."

"Next time you decide to pull a stunt like this, try coming up with a story that doesn't sound like it's straight out of a bad soap opera, okay?"

His icy words cut deep. Henderson's eyes, hard and lined with rage, filled with even more hate. He pressed the blade harder against my skin.

A thin red line welled up on my neck.

I wanted to break down and sob, but I fought it back, trying to sound calm and reasonable. "I'm not trying to stop you from saving Tiffany! If you don't believe me, just send a couple of guys to check it out…"

"Enough!" Jack cut me off, impatience sharp in his tone. "I don't have time for this. I have to get to Tiffany."

Then, turning to someone else, he barked, "Call in a false alarm for 'rooftop stabbing.' Ignore any other calls about it!"

He hung up.

The hatred in Henderson's eyes burned brighter, and a wave of pure dread washed over me.

I never thought Jack would go this far.

Last time, when Henderson had taken me hostage, he'd stabbed me the same way—five times in the gut.

Terrified of losing the baby, I'd called Jack over and over.

He'd finally caved and come to save me.

Tiffany found out, went off the rails, set her apartment on fire, and burned herself alive.

That night, I noticed Jack acting strange and asked if he was angry with me.

His face softened, and he gently touched my stomach. "Why would I be mad at you? She got what she deserved. Don't worry about it, babe. Just focus on having the baby."

I actually thought he'd come to his senses.

Then my delivery day came. He strapped me to the bed, his eyes bloodshot, and told me my baby and I were going to hell to pay for Tiffany's death.

"Was it all a joke? You didn't want me there! Did you lie about being hurt?"

"Since you like being stabbed so much, here you go!"

I blinked, and he was stabbing me again…

I tried to explain that it had been real, that I was really hurt, but that only made him angrier.