Chapter 4

The front door exploded open at exactly 4:17 PM. I'd been tracking the black sedan in our driveway for the past hour, watching through security cameras as the driver unloaded luggage.

Adeline Parker stood in our marble foyer like an avenging angel - sixty-two years old with silver hair pulled into a perfect chignon and a Chanel suit that probably cost more than most people's cars.

"So," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade, "you're the woman who trapped my son."

No hello. No pleasantries. Just cold assessment.

"Mrs. Parker," I managed, smoothing down my yoga pants. Next to her designer perfection, I looked like fucking trailer trash. "What a surprise. Lyndon didn't mention you were coming back from Australia."

"Australia was convenient," she cut me off, dropping her limited-edition Birkin bag on our marble side table like she owned the place. "Three years I've stayed away, letting my son play house with... this."

She gestured at me like I was something distasteful she'd found stuck to her shoe.

"But patience has limits." She reached into her bag and pulled out a manila folder. "Especially when the investment isn't producing returns."

Medical paperwork scattered across our floor like falling snow. I bent to pick them up, and the words hit me like physical blows:

Severe reproductive trauma... Extensive internal scarring... Likelihood of natural conception: Less than 2%...

"My son married a barren waste of space!" Adeline's voice echoed off our ceilings. "Three years! Three years and you haven't produced so much as a miscarriage!"

My hands trembled as I held the papers. These were my private medical records from after the beating. The attack that left me unable to have children.

"These are confidential," I whispered. "You had no right—"

"Rights?" She laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "I'm funding this charade! When I'm paying for damaged goods, I damn well have the right to know how defective they are!"

The front door chimed. Perfect fucking timing.

"Auntie Adeline!" came a familiar voice. "What a wonderful surprise!"

Harper stood in our entryway holding her infant daughter, dressed in head-to-toe designer everything. She looked radiant, successful - everything I wasn't.

"Harper, darling!" Adeline's entire demeanor transformed. "Look at you! And this precious angel!"

Harper glided forward on designer heels, her smile warm and genuine - but only for Adeline.

"I was just dropping by to check on Jasmine," Harper said sweetly. "She seemed so distressed after yesterday's... incident."

Yesterday's incident. The recording where she confessed to murdering Jake while Lyndon listened like a lovesick puppy.

"At least someone in this family produces results," Adeline cooed, reaching for Harper's daughter. "What's her name again?"

"Isabella Rose. She just inherited her portion of the Blackstone trust - twenty million at birth." Harper's voice carried just the right note of modest pride. "Ryan believes in securing his children's futures early."

Adeline's eyes lit up with avarice. "The Blackstone trust! Harper, if you were my daughter-in-law, I'd already have grandsons carrying the Parker name."

"Oh Auntie, you're too kind," Harper demurred, but her eyes found mine over Adeline's head. That look said everything: This could have been yours, but you're too broken to deserve it.

"We're going to lunch at Soho House," Adeline announced. "Harper needs proper treatment after flying in from London, and I need to decompress from my journey."

"I should stay here," I said quickly. "You two should catch up without—"

"Nonsense," Harper interrupted smoothly. "You can drive us. The exercise will do you good."

It wasn't a request.

Twenty minutes later, I was chauffeur in Lyndon's Bentley while they sat in the back discussing my reproductive failures like I was a broken appliance.

"Jasmine, you're driving like my grandmother," Adeline complained. "No wonder you can't accomplish anything productive. No efficiency whatsoever."

Harper laughed sympathetically. "To be fair, Auntie, she's been through significant trauma. Sometimes damaged women lose their... capabilities."

Damaged women. Like I was livestock that couldn't breed.

"Trauma is an excuse for the weak," Adeline scoffed. "I immigrated to this country with nothing, built a business empire worth hundreds of millions, and still managed to produce three healthy children. Modern women are pathetic."

They kept talking like I wasn't there. Harper describing her perfect life with Ryan and their growing family, Adeline detailing exactly how disappointed she was in her son's "poor investment choices."

At Soho House, Adeline turned to me with royal dismissal. "Wait in the car. This lunch is for women who've earned their place in society."

I watched them disappear into the marble lobby, their heels clicking with shared superiority.

But I didn't wait in the car.

After fifteen minutes, I walked into the restaurant, telling myself I needed the restroom. But as I passed the private dining room, I heard voices through the slightly open door.

Male voices. Including one that made my blood freeze.

Lyndon was there. My husband was having lunch with Harper and his mother, while I'd been relegated to parking lot duty.

"Why can't you just eliminate the problem permanently?" Adeline's voice was sharp, impatient. "She's served her purpose - kept you stable after the Jake situation. But now she's dead weight."

"Mother, I can't just divorce her," Lyndon's voice was strained. "If she becomes unstable and starts talking about what we did—"

"Then don't divorce her," Harper's voice cut through like silk over steel. "Accidents happen all the time in Los Angeles. Poor woman, still traumatized from her parents' house fire... maybe she never recovered."

The sound of silverware clinking against plates. Casual murder planning over the soup course.

"Harper's right," Adeline agreed. "A tragic suicide would generate sympathy rather than suspicion. Poor Lyndon, losing his troubled wife to her inner demons."

"But what about the timeline?" Lyndon asked. "Too soon after the parents might raise questions."

"Not if you have the right medical documentation," Harper said smoothly. "Depression, PTSD, survivor's guilt. I have contacts who could establish a paper trail."

My knees nearly gave out. They weren't just planning to kill me - they were planning to make it look like I'd killed myself.

"Once she's gone," Adeline continued, "you'll be free to marry someone appropriate. Someone who can actually continue the family line."

"Someone like Harper," Lyndon said hopefully. "Once her marriage to Ryan runs its course—"

"Don't be presumptuous," Harper's voice was sharp. "I'm building an empire with the Blackstone name. But we'll always have our... special connection."

Special connection. Fifteen years of him worshipping her while she used him for her dirty work.

I backed away from the door, my heart hammering against my ribs. They weren't just planning my death - they were planning my replacement.

The drive home was agony. Adeline spent the entire time explaining exactly how I'd failed as a woman, while Harper offered fake sympathy that burned worse than acid.

"I'm giving you six months," Adeline announced as we pulled into our driveway. "Six months to either produce a pregnancy or disappear from my son's life permanently."

"Auntie, that's a bit harsh," Harper said, but her tone suggested she thought it was perfectly reasonable. "Though I understand your frustration. A marriage should produce results."

Results. Children. The family line. Everything I couldn't give them.

"Do you understand me?" Adeline demanded.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Good. Now help me with my luggage. Make yourself useful for something."

That night, I sat alone in our bedroom at 11 PM. Lyndon was still "in meetings" - probably celebrating with Harper. Adeline had retired to the guest wing after claiming the best room in the house.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror across from our bed. The bed where Harper and Lyndon had planned my destruction while fucking like animals.

"Damaged goods," I said to my reflection. "Dead weight. Problem to be eliminated."

Their words echoed in my head, but something had changed. The scared, grateful victim was gone.

I picked up my phone and scrolled to Nathan's contact.

"Nathan? I know it's late there. How quickly can you get to Los Angeles?... Yes, it's urgent. And Nathan? Bring your camera equipment. I'm going to give them a performance they'll never forget."

I hung up and walked to the window, looking out over the city lights.

"Harper," I whispered. "Adeline. Lyndon. You think I'm a problem to be eliminated?"

I smiled for the first time in months. It felt cold.

"Let me show you what a real problem looks like."