Chapter 3: The Crash

I gripped the ultrasound like it was burning through my skin.

I stared at the glossy paper. A blurred mass. A name. A date.

It looked real. But it wasn’t. I suspected it wasn’t.

Emily had crossed a line.

A lie this deep—it didn’t just bruise. It could destroy.

I stood in the middle of the kitchen, the envelope still open on the table, the threatening letter beside it like a slap across my face.

> “You’ll only lose.”

That line played over and over in my mind. Mocking. Ruthless.

I paced in slow, tight circles. My breaths came sharp and uneven. This wasn’t about heartbreak anymore. It was a war.

I picked up my phone.

“Hello?” came Isabella’s voice—my godmother and lawyer.

“Emily sent me something,” I said. “A fake ultrasound. And threats.”

There was a pause.

“I’m coming over,” Isabella said. “Right now.”

---

Twenty minutes later, Isabella held the photo under a lamp.

“She didn’t expect you to call her bluff,” she muttered.

“She’s trying to take everything,” I said. “Even my identity. Gabriel is letting her.”

Isabella looked up, calm but sharp. “Let’s make something clear. You can’t stop Emily from lying. But you can stop her from being believed.”

My hands tightened into fists.

“She wants to make me look like a jealous wife. The weak one.”

“Then don’t let her,” Isabella said. “We’re filing now. Today. We’ll issue a subpoena. If she wants to claim pregnancy in court, she’ll need medical proof. Real proof.”

I nodded.

“She’s going to expose herself,” Isabella said. “Just give her enough rope.”

---

Meanwhile…

Gabriel stood outside a luxury high-rise in downtown Manhattan, phone pressed to his ear, face tight.

“Emily,” he said flatly. “I told you not to contact Eve.”

She said nothing on the other end.

“Why did you send her that photo?”

Still silent.

“Emily,” he snapped, “what the hell were you thinking?”

Finally, she spoke. “You weren’t going to tell her.”

“That’s not your place.”

“You made it my place,” she said. “When you gave me promises.”

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re not pregnant.”

“Prove I’m not.”

“You faked a sonogram.”

“And you faked a future,” she hissed. “We’re even.”

Gabriel didn’t respond.

“I’m boarding a flight tonight,” he muttered. “When I’m back, this ends. All of it.”

“You mean her?” Emily asked.

“I mean you.” Gabriel said.

---

Gabriel hung up and stepped into the elevator.

The doors closed with a soft ding.

But inside him, things weren’t quiet. He wasn’t used to guilt, but it was beginning to form like a storm on the edge of his conscience.

He’d pushed too far.

Played both sides too long.

And now the consequences were circling.

---

Back in Eve’s home.

 I watched Isabella type furiously on her laptop.

“You have every right to file now,” my godmother said. “But if we do this publicly, you’ll need to be ready for what comes.”

I nodded.

“I’m not hiding anymore.”

Isabella raised a brow. “Then we’ll do it on your terms.”

The house phone rang.

I was startled slightly.

Then I answered. “Hello?”

A pause. Then a voice.

“Mrs. Grayson?”

“Yes.”

“This is Officer Jenson. I’m calling on behalf of Grayson Holdings’ corporate travel division. Your husband, Gabriel Grayson, was on board a private helicopter this afternoon…”

The blood drained from my face.

“… There was a crash.”

---

Two hours later

Rain hit the windshield in bursts as I gripped the steering wheel.

I didn’t remember half the drive to the hospital. Didn’t remember turning the ignition, or what I told my child, or if I had locked the front door.

All I could hear was the voice on the phone.

> "We don't know the extent of the injuries yet."

> "He survived the crash but was unconscious when rescue arrived."

> "You're listed as his primary emergency contact."

Not Emily.

Me?

I parked crooked in front of the ER entrance and ran inside, soaked to the bone.

---

The waiting room smelled like bleach and coffee.

A nurse took my name.

“Yes,” I said breathlessly. “I’m his wife.”

Gabriel’s.

Wife.

I hadn’t said the word out loud in days.

I was ushered into a hallway. Dim. Humming with machines and urgency.

The doctor met me outside the ICU doors.

“Mrs. Grayson. Your husband’s stable. But… he suffered a significant concussion. He’s conscious, but disoriented.”

My throat tightened. “Will he recover?”

“We expect so. But he’s experiencing memory loss.”

“What kind of memory loss?”

“Retrograde. His mind’s wiped the last few years. Could be temporary. Could be… longer.”

The doctor looked me squarely in the eye.

“He thinks it’s 2021. And he thinks you’re still happily married.”

---

My legs felt weak.

The world tilted, just slightly.

My breath came in short, shallow bursts.

The doctor kept talking, explaining medical terms I couldn’t hear. All I could see was a terrifying image:

Gabriel.

Asking for me.

As if nothing had happened.

As if the affair had never existed.

---

The door opened.

A nurse said gently, “He’s asking for you.”

I didn’t move.

Then slowly, like someone moving through a dream, I stepped inside.

Gabriel lay in the hospital bed, pale, bandaged, his eyes groggy but focused.

He blinked at me.

Then smiled weakly.

“Hey,” he said.

“Did I miss our anniversary?”

I stood frozen.

He looked at me like I was the center of his world.

“Come here,” he whispered, reaching out a trembling hand.

My body moved forward.

My mind screamed in chaos.

---

Outside the hospital, Emily sat in her car across the street, fingers curled around the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turned white.

She hadn’t been listed as a contact.

She hadn’t even been notified.

She had to find out from social media.

> “CEO Gabriel Grayson in a helicopter crash—wife by his side.”

Wife.

Not a mistress.

Not her.

She watched the hospital door, jaw clenched, heart pulsing with something far worse than jealousy.

Hatred.

I had what she wanted again.

And Emily was going to take it back.