Chapter 5

I couldn't sleep. Again.

By 9 AM, I was sprawled on our couch with my iPad, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram because what else was I supposed to do? Lyndon had left for "meetings" before I even woke up, and the house felt like a mausoleum.

That's when Harper's story popped up.

Holy shit.

She was practically swimming in diamonds, posing with what looked like half of Cartier's winter collection. The caption read: Ryan's latest surprises! Building our empire together! 💎✨ #BlessedLife #BlackstoneFamily

The comments made me want to hurl my iPad across the room:

OMG! Is that the $3 million Cartier Panthère necklace?! Harper, you're literally living every woman's dream!

A BUGATTI CHIRON as a push present?! Ryan is the most romantic husband in Hollywood!

Queen energy! When will I find a man who worships me like this?

I gripped my coffee mug so hard my knuckles went white.

The TV droned in the background about "the lavish christening ceremony for Isabella Rose Blackstone, scheduled for today at the Beverly Hills Hotel with Hollywood's elite in attendance..."

Keep flaunting, Harper. Every post is evidence of how you spent my stolen life.

My phone buzzed. A text from Lyndon that made my lips curve into a predatory smile:

[My beautiful wife, I have a special surprise waiting for you at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Come quickly - I can't wait to see your reaction! 😘 Dress beautifully, today is important for our future.]

There it was. The trap, laid out so perfectly.

Another text immediately after: [Harper suggested you might enjoy seeing the family celebration. She's such a thoughtful friend.]

Friend. The woman who murdered Jake and my parents, who's been planning my death over lunch dates.

I stared at the messages, feeling cold clarity wash over me. They thought they were so fucking clever, didn't they? Let me walk into their public humiliation, break me down completely before the final act.

Fine. Let's give them exactly what they want.

I headed upstairs to our bedroom, pulling open my walk-in closet. My eyes landed on the white Armani dress Lyndon had bought me last year - the one he said made me look "pure and innocent."

"Pure and innocent," I murmured, running my fingers over the fabric. "Perfect for a lamb being led to slaughter."

But lambs don't have Nathan's military-grade recording equipment sewn into their clothes.

I slipped into the dress like armor, every hidden wire and micro-camera positioned exactly where Nathan had shown me. The tiny earpiece was virtually invisible, the recording devices looked like innocent jewelry.

"Testing, testing," Nathan's voice came through clearly from his van outside. "Audio and video are perfect, Jasmine. You ready to burn their world down?"

"I've been ready for four years," I whispered back.

By 2 PM, I was walking through the Beverly Hills Hotel's lobby, my heels clicking against marble with deliberate precision. White roses, crystal champagne towers, Hollywood's elite buzzing around like expensive locusts.

Everything was going exactly according to plan.

"Ma'am, are you here for the Blackstone christening?" a uniformed staff member asked, his smile faltering slightly as he took in my appearance.

"Of course," I replied smoothly. "Family friend."

The massive ballroom doors opened, and I stepped into what I knew would be my public execution.

But executions could go both ways.

The room was white roses, golden baby carriages, and champagne fountains. Three hundred pairs of eyes turned toward me, and the whispers started immediately:

"Jesus Christ, is that Jasmine Carter? What the hell is she doing here?"

"I heard she's married to Lyndon Parker now. Barely counts as industry insider."

"Such bad taste, crashing a family celebration uninvited."

I smiled serenely and walked forward like I owned the place.

Then the patriarch of the Blackstone empire rose from his throne-like chair, his face purple with manufactured rage.

"You child-killing bitch!" His voice boomed across the ballroom, silencing every conversation. "How dare you contaminate our family celebration with your presence?"

Right on cue, I thought, my smile never wavering. Every word being recorded in crystal-clear audio.

Harper appeared beside the old man, her face a perfect mask of shock and concern. Academy Award worthy, really.

"Mr. Blackstone, please don't let her upset you," Harper said, her voice carrying just the right note of gentle concern. "Today is Isabella's special day."

Such a dedicated performer. I watched her work the room with practiced ease.

"Upset me?" The patriarch's voice shook with theatrical fury. "This woman's negligence murdered my grandson! My precious Jake! And now she dares to pollute my granddaughter's sacred ceremony?"

Ryan stepped forward, his expression carved from ice. "Security, remove this person immediately. Her presence is an insult to my family's memory."

But Harper wasn't done with her show yet.

She approached me with synthetic sympathy painted across her features. "Jasmine, I know you're struggling with everything that happened, but today isn't about you. Couldn't you just respect our family's joy?"

Then she leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear: "You stupid bitch. Did you really think Lyndon wanted you here? This is what happens when broken toys don't know their place."

I almost laughed. Exactly what I expected you to say, you psychotic cunt.

With calculated force, she grabbed my arm and yanked hard, tearing the delicate fabric and causing me to stumble.

"I'm trying to be reasonable with you!" Harper shouted, loud enough for every camera phone in the room. "Why are you being so aggressive?"

As she prepared for her theatrical fall to the floor, she hissed in my ear: "After today, Lyndon won't even need to divorce you. You'll be so humiliated, you'll beg him to end it. Then I can finally put you out of your misery permanently."

Then came the calculated tumble to the marble floor.

"Help! She attacked me! I just gave birth - my body is still so fragile!" Harper's Oscar-worthy performance had the entire room in uproar.

Security moved toward me, but not before I caught Harper's satisfied smirk when she thought no one was looking. Every expression, every fake tear, every manipulative word - all captured in high definition.

"Ma'am, you need to leave immediately," the security chief said, grabbing my arms with unnecessary force.

As they dragged me through the lobby, I kept my head high and my expression serene. Three hundred witnesses had just watched Harper Blackstone assault an innocent woman, then lie about it.

They threw me out into the afternoon heat, my white dress torn and my dignity supposedly shattered.

Perfect.

The moment the hotel doors slammed behind me, I felt my phone vibrate with an incoming call.

"Nathan? Please tell me you got everything."

"Every fucking second," Nathan's voice was grim with satisfaction. "Audio, video, facial recognition software tracking Harper's expressions when she thought no one was watching. Jasmine, this is enough to destroy all of them."

"Good. Phase one complete. Now we move to phase two."

My phone buzzed with a text from Lyndon: [Baby, I heard about the incident at the hotel. I'm so sorry - I had no idea they'd react so violently. Come home immediately, I'll comfort you.]

I typed back: [On my way. I have something special to show you too.]

I stood in the Beverly Hills heat for a long moment, letting the sun dry my fake tears and settle my racing heart. The broken victim who believed in love and second chances was officially dead.

What walked away from that hotel was something else entirely.

Something that was going to make them all pay.