Chapter Five : Mrs. Julian Croft

The judge was waiting in a private conference room on the second floor of The Plaza.

He was an old man with white hair and kind eyes. He looked at me in my hotel robe, at Julian in his expensive suit, and at Margaret who was tapping her watch.

"This is highly irregular, Margaret," he said.

"Irregular keeps you employed, Harold," Margaret said. "Two minutes. Just the legal part. No speech."

Julian turned to me. He took both my hands. His hands were warm. Mine were ice cold.

"Elena Hart Stone," the judge began, opening his little book. "Do you take Julian Croft to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

I looked up at Julian. His grey eyes were steady. He was not smiling. He was not acting like a man in love. He was acting like a man going to war for me.

My voice shook, but I said it loud enough for the room to hear.

"I do."

"Julian Croft, do you take Elena Hart Stone to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," Julian said without hesitation. "I do."

"Then by the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may—"

Margaret cut him off. "No kissing needed. We need the certificate. Now."

The judge signed the paper fast. Margaret stamped it. Julian signed. I signed with a shaking hand.

My name. The ink was still wet.

_Elena Croft._

For better or worse, I was no longer Mrs. Adrian Stone. I was Mrs. Julian Croft.

Margaret took a photo of the marriage certificate with her phone and emailed it to someone instantly.

"Sent to the NYPD, to the hospital, and to Adrian Stone's lawyer," she said. "Now you have a husband who can post a million-dollar bail if needed. Let's go. We have a murder victim to meet."

Mount Sinai Hospital smelled like antiseptic and fear.

Detective Miller was a woman this time, not a man. She was in her forties, with sharp brown eyes and no makeup. She was waiting for us in a small private room next to the ICU. Adrian was there too.

Adrian looked terrible. His hair was messy. His white shirt was wrinkled. His eyes were red, like he had been crying or drinking all night. When he saw me walk in with Julian, holding Julian's hand, his face twisted.

"Elena," he said, standing up. "Thank God you're okay. I was so worried—"

"Worried?" Julian said coldly, stepping in front of me. "You sent her a divorce agreement demanding she say her baby is not yours. You threatened her. Don't perform worried now."

Detective Miller held up a hand. "Everyone sit. Mrs. Croft — I see you got married this morning. Congratulations. Interesting timing."

"It was planned," Margaret said smoothly, sitting down and opening her briefcase. "My clients have been engaged for months. The timing is personal."

The detective looked at me.

"Mrs. Croft, Vanessa Croft is alive, but she is in critical condition. She fell 58 floors but landed on a scaffold on the 50th floor, which broke her fall. She has two broken legs, three broken ribs, a concussion, and internal bleeding. She is lucky to be alive."

She slid a plastic bag across the table. Inside was my red silk scarf.

"Is this yours?"

I wanted to lie, but Margaret squeezed my knee under the table.

"Yes," I said. "It is mine. I left it in Adrian's office last night at around 9 p.m. when I found him kissing Vanessa. I left the penthouse after that. I did not go back."

"And where were you between 12:00 a.m. and 12:30 a.m.?" Detective Miller asked.

"I was in The Plaza Hotel, Suite 1204, with my husband Julian Croft. I fell asleep around 2 a.m. and woke up at 5:47 a.m. when Adrian called me."

"Can anyone prove that?"

"My hotel keycard shows I entered the suite at 9:42 p.m. and never left," I said. "And the hotel has security cameras in the hallway."

Margaret added, "And my client has a photo that proves she was asleep in her hotel room at 12:07 a.m., the exact time Vanessa fell. Someone took a photo of her sleeping inside her locked suite."

Detective Miller frowned. "Show me."

I showed her the photo from the unknown number. The photo of me asleep in the white robe, time-stamped 12:07 a.m.

The detective's eyes widened. She took a picture of it with her own phone.

"Who sent you this?"

"A number that says V. We believe V is Vanessa Croft," Julian said. "Which means Vanessa was not in the penthouse at 12:03 a.m. when she supposedly fell. She was in my wife's hotel room, taking photos of her while she slept. Then she went back to the penthouse and staged her own fall to frame my wife."

Adrian slammed his hand on the table.

"That's insane! Why would Vanessa frame Elena? Vanessa loves me! She would never hurt herself like that!"

Margaret looked at Adrian with pity.

"Mr. Stone, Vanessa is your girlfriend, but she is also Julian's sister. And she knows that if Elena stays married to you and has your child, she will never get your money. But if Elena goes to jail for attempted murder, you will divorce Elena for free, and Vanessa can become Mrs. Stone without sharing. It's called motive."

Adrian opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Just then, a nurse knocked on the door.

"Detective, the patient in ICU 3 is awake. She is asking for Elena. She keeps saying Elena's name."

The room went silent.

Vanessa was awake and asking for me.

Detective Miller stood up. "Mrs. Croft, would you like to see her? With your lawyer present, of course. It might clear this up."

My heart was pounding so loud I could hear it. I was pregnant. I was terrified. But I needed to see her face. I needed to know if she really tried to destroy me.

I stood up. Julian stood with me, holding my hand tight.

"Yes," I said. "I want to see Vanessa."

We walked down the long white hallway to ICU 3. Through the glass window, I could see her.

Vanessa Croft was lying in a hospital bed, both legs in casts, her face bruised, an oxygen tube in her nose. But her eyes were open. And they were looking right at me.

When she saw me, she smiled. A small, painful, but triumphant smile.

She lifted a shaking hand and beckoned me closer.

Margaret whispered, "Don't say anything without me. Just listen."

I walked into the room. Julian stayed at the door with the detective.

Vanessa's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"You... you came... Elena..."

"Vanessa, what happened?" I whispered. "Did you fall? Did someone push you?"

Tears filled her eyes. She looked like the old Vanessa, my best friend who used to braid my hair in college.

"Elena... I'm so sorry... I was so jealous... Adrian... Adrian pushed me..."

My blood froze.

"What?" I said. "Adrian pushed you?"

Vanessa nodded slowly, tears running down her bruised cheeks.

"He... he found my phone... He saw I was taking photos of you... He saw I sent reporters photos of you and him... He got angry... He said I ruined his plan to divorce you quietly... He pushed me... during a fight... Elena... he tried to kill me..."

Behind me, I heard Adrian gasp from the hallway.

"She's lying!" Adrian shouted, bursting into the room. "Vanessa, what are you saying? I never touched you! You fell! You slipped!"

Detective Miller pulled him back.

Vanessa looked at Adrian, then at me, and whispered one last sentence that made my entire world collapse.

"Elena... the baby... Adrian told me... the baby is not his... He told me you cheated with Julian... Is it true? Is Julian the father of your baby?"

I turned to look at Julian. Julian's face was white.

Because the truth was, no one knew yet who the father was. Not even me. The doctor said I was six weeks pregnant. Adrian and I had been distant for months. And one night, a month ago, after a terrible fight with Adrian, I had gotten drunk at a bar and woken up in a hotel with no memory.

A hotel that Julian owned.