A Crown of Scandal

1
For a decade, I've been GBC's News Queen, yet my most frequent story is my husband's latest affair. Tonight, paparazzi trapped him in his car with another. My phone rang nonstophis mother demanding I protect the family name.
Leaving the studio, I washed my face, forced a smile, and performed the usual damage control: pastries, calls, and checks. The paparazzi apologized to my face, but their whispers stabbed my back: "The great News Queen, still the woman everyone knows is cheated on."
He's the man who once knelt publicly, declaring me his life's love. He's also the man whose mistresses now make me a citywide joke. After buying their silence, I texted him: "Give me 20% of the company stock, and you can have the Ashworth name back."

Hank and I arrived home at almost the same time, his sports car pulling into the driveway moments after my town car.
He saw me and his eyes narrowed into a lazy, charming smile.
Whats this? Angry, darling?
I didnt bother to respond. I just pulled the divorce papers from my briefcasepapers Id had drawn up months agoand handed them to him.
The smile evaporated from his face. He snatched the document, his knuckles white, and stormed out of the car.
I followed him up the stone path. Hank, when are you going to sign them?
He stopped dead, whirling around so fast I almost collided with him. His eyes were bloodshot with fury. Claire, don't you dare think you can scare me with a piece of paper. It wont work.
He paced back and forth on the manicured lawn, his tailored suit seeming to constrict him. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, laced with that old, familiar manipulation.
Our son is seven years old. You cant take him, you know that. Are you really willing to leave him?
Willing?
Leo has been raised by Mrs. Ashworth, living in her wing of the mansion. He doesnt call me "Mom." He calls me her or that woman. He shows more affection to Hanks flavor-of-the-week than he does to me, his own mother.
Hes my flesh and blood. I could never understand why he hated me so much.
Until I overheard him talking to his friends.
My dad married some nobody from the sticks. Why would I call her my mother? Calling her her is already giving her too much credit.
The memory made a bitter laugh escape my lips.
Hes the designated Ashworth heir, Hank. Why wouldnt I be willing to leave him in his rightful place?
My unyielding tone made his face darken into a thunderous mask. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, his voice a low growl.
Claire! You dont want a husband, you dont want a sonwhat the hell do you want?
I ripped my arm free and threw my phone at him. It bounced off his chest and clattered onto the stone.
What do I want? My voice was sharp, brittle. Hank! You could have slept with anyone in New York City, but you had to choose my biggest rival at the network!
The tabloids call me a saint for my patience, my colleagues call me a doormat. Youve dragged my face through the mud, and now youve set it on fire!
Hanks anger flared, but his eyes caught the phone screen, which had lit up with a crystal-clear photo of him in bed with Isabelle Vance. The fight went out of him.
He sighed, a long, weary sound, and reached for me. I shoved him back, hard.
That was the last straw. The charming facade shattered. Thats enough, Claire! he roared, his arm sweeping out and knocking over a porcelain vase on the entryway table.
I stumbled backward, right into the shards. A sharp pain shot up my leg, and a moment later, a slick of crimson began to seep through the white fabric of my slacks.
Hanks eyes widened in shock. He started to reach for me, then hesitated, pulling his hand back as if burned.
My mother was right, he seethed, his voice dripping with venom. Ive spoiled you. Youve forgotten that this familys name is Ashworth, not yours!
You keep pushing, and Ill have you thrown out of GBC. Dont think I cant do it.
He spun on his heel and stormed up the grand staircase.
I stared after him, a dizzying wave of nostalgia washing over me. Everyone used to say Hank Ashworth was the kindest, most gentle man in New York society.
And he was. When he loved you.
When I was a scholarship kid at NYU, I was an outsider. The other students bullied me, poured soda on my textbooks, shredded my clothes. He appeared like a knight in shining armor, replacing everything, taking me under his wing.
I was just a girl from the Midwest, completely lost in the big city. He was endlessly patient, coaching me, helping me lose my accent, teaching me the unspoken rules of his world. When I interned at GBC, hed sit in the coffee shop across the street every single day, just waiting for me.
The Ashworth family matriarch refused to approve our marriage. So he stood up to her in front of the entire board, forfeiting his trust fund just to be with me. Then he knelt on the pavement outside the GBC studios and proposed in front of the world.
But that fairy tale lasted only two years.
Then his true nature surfaced, and the affairs began.
I tried to fight it at first. I screamed, I cried. In response, Mrs. Ashworth simply took my son away. As she left my room, she paused at the door, a cold smile on her face, and told me the truth.
Hank said the biggest benefit of marrying you was your background in journalism. You know how to handle a crisis. If you dont learn to be obedient, you will never see your son again.
I questioned it, denied it, screamed until I was hoarse.
It wasn't until Hank himself admitted it that the fight finally left me. The Ashworth empire needed a First Lady who was an expert in damage control.
But you said you loved me! I cried, my eyes raw.
He cupped my face with those gentle hands, but his words were brutal.
I do love you, Claire. But I also love Lisa, and Amanda, and that dancer from the club
It was then I understood. In his eyes, I was no different from a high-class call girl.
I just had a more respectable title.
A hollow laugh bubbled up from my chest. I tried to use the wall to pull myself up, but my hand slipped, and I fell back into the pile of broken porcelain. The pain made me gasp.
My seven-year-old son, my Leo, just stood at the top of the stairs, watching me with cold disdain.
Grandmas right, he sneered. You really are a useless waste of space.
I thought I had run out of tears years ago. But as I looked down at the blood on my leg, they came faster than the pain.
I was about to tell him we were getting a divorce, that I was leaving.
But then he shoved past me without a second glance, throwing himself into the arms of the woman who had just walked in. Isabelle! You came to see me! he squealed with delight.
I smelled the familiar scent of gardenias before I even saw her face. My rival, Isabelle Vance. Shed stolen my assistant, poached my sources, and tried to take my time slot. Now, she was brazenly walking into my home to steal my son.
Isabelle put on a show of mock sympathy. Oh, Claire, Im so sorry. Hank insisted I come over to see Leo.
The easy familiarity between them told me this wasnt her first visit.
Leo, impatient with the pretense, tugged her toward the stairs. His childish voice was laced with a poison that went straight for my heart.
Dont talk to her, Izzy. You might catch her germs.
Isabelle shot me a triumphant smirk over her shoulder. Then, with a flick of her thumb, I knew she had just sent a video of this humiliating scene to the GBC staff group chat. A moment later, my phone began to buzz incessantly. I didnt have to look. I could already imagine their pitying, mocking words.
My son. The baby who used to gurgle with laughter in my arms, who would wipe away my tears with his chubby little hands.
Now he called me useless. Dirty.
And he called another woman Mommy.
I had endured seven years in the Ashworth cage. My reward was Hanks brazen betrayal and my own sons visceral disgust.
Just then, a text from my family doctor back home lit up my screen. I'm so sorry for your loss.
My mother was gone.
My bloody fingers smeared streaks across my face as I tried to wipe away the tears that wouldn't stop falling. A strange, guilty sense of release mingled with my grief.
My mom was gone. It was time for me to go, too.
Sitting in the shadows of my bedroom, I pulled up a number I hadn't called in years.
I typed a single line: "Save me a spot."
The message had just sent when Hank burst into the room. He stared at me, his expression unreadable.
Isabelle is here. As the lady of the house, arent you going to entertain our guest?
I didnt even look at him, my face a numb mask. Sign the papers, and Ill roll out the red carpet for your little whore.
Claire! Hanks eyes blazed, his teeth gritted. Youre that desperate to leave?
My gaze met his without flinching. Yes.
He loosened his tie, a cold, humorless laugh escaping his lips. Dont forget, I made you the News Queen. I can just as easily break you.
Go ahead.
Those two simple words shattered his composure. He lunged forward, grabbing me, pulling me so close I could feel the heat of his rage. His dark eyes were like burning coals.
For seven years, I had seen every version of Hank Ashworth: the shrewd negotiator, the charismatic interviewee, the tender lover.
But I had never seen thisthis raw, uncontrolled fury.
I let out a small, contemptuous laugh and slowly closed my eyes.
His breathing grew ragged. I braced myself for a blow, but instead, he let me go, shoving me away.
Youll regret this, Claire, he said, his voice dropping to an icy whisper. You just wait.
The punishment was swift and brutal.
The next day, when I walked into the network heads office, he threw a cup of scalding coffee at me. It missed, splashing against the wall behind me.
Claire! Youre finished! he screamed, his face purple with rage. GBC is terminating your contract, effective immediately! Isabelle Vance is taking over your evening news slot!
I had been expecting it. I calmly placed my employee ID on his desk.
As I turned to leave, he grabbed my arm. You think you can just walk out of here?
Before I could ask what he meant, the glass doors to the newsroom shattered inward. A mob of people surged in, led by a screaming woman who launched herself at me, her nails raking across my face.
You bitch! Some famous anchor! Youre nothing but a high-class whore! she shrieked. You seduced my husband during an interview! Hold her down! Im going to kill her!
Hands grabbed my hair, tore at my blouse. The cold air hit my exposed skin, and I started to tremble uncontrollably.
I didnt! It wasnt me! I choked out, but my denials only fueled their rage.
A fist connected with my mouth, and I tasted blood. It dripped from the corner of my lip onto the pristine floor. Through the chaos, I could see my former colleagues crowded outside the office, watching the spectacle like it was a zoo exhibit.
And there was Isabelle, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, a smug, satisfied smile playing on her lips.
She sauntered over and knelt down, her face inches from mine. My, my. Such a tough girl. Want to bet I can make you confess in five seconds?
I spat a mouthful of blood and saliva onto her perfectly made-up face.
Her smile twisted into a snarl. She slapped me, hard, then pulled out her phone and dialed a number. A moment later, Hanks voice echoed from the speaker, a thunderclap in my ringing ears.
Do you want your mother to have a proper burial?
My blood ran cold.
Then do what Isabelle says. Confess. Give her the position.
Hank, do you know what shes accusing me of My voice broke.
I dont care, he cut me off, his tone utterly indifferent. Just do whatever Isabelle wants! All that matters is that shes happy!
The world went silent. The phone slipped from Isabelles grasp.
She grabbed my chin, her nails digging into my skin. Well? she whispered, her voice dripping with triumph. Are you going to confess?
I thought of my mothers body, lying in a morgue thousands of miles away, her final peace held hostage.
I swallowed the blood pooling in my mouth and gave a ragged, broken laugh.
I confess I confess.
Not good enough! I want you to slap yourself while you say it!
I looked into Isabelles venomous eyes. My hand felt like it belonged to someone else as I raised it and began to strike my own face, over and over.
Im cheap Im a slut I seduced him
The rest is a blur. Flashing lights, camera lenses shoved in my face, a cacophony of clicks and shouts. Hank didnt just want to destroy my career; he wanted to obliterate my name, to erase me from the industry entirely.
This was the same man who once stayed up all night with me, brewing coffee and cheering me on when I was struggling with a script. He had witnessed every step of my rise over the past seven years. And now, he was personally orchestrating my fall.
I lay in bed, ignoring the hurricane of filth and vitriol online, and stared at the ceiling, a strange, empty smile on my face.
The door creaked open. Leo stood there, holding a steaming pot. For the first time in years, he looked at me and said the word.
Mom.
A flicker of warmth stirred in my chest. I opened my mouth to speak.
And then he lifted the pot and threw its contents at me.
The searing heat of the scalding stew was an inferno against my skin, raising blisters in its wake.
Leo clapped his hands, his eyes wide with glee. Die! A bitch like you deserves to die!
I froze, staring at him in numb shock. My own mother had just been buried, and my own son wanted me dead.
Hank walked in at that moment. He scolded Leo, telling him he shouldnt have done that. Then, just like he used to, he opened the first-aid kit and began to expertly treat my burns.
I didn't say a word. I didn't even look at him.
He sighed, his beautiful, expressive eyes fixed on me. Isabelle is pregnant, Claire. She cant be under any stress. Let her have this. Once the baby is born, I promise Ill get you your anchor position back.
He made his promise with such sincerity, as if he had nothing to do with the character assassination being broadcast on every channel.
Whether he knew the full extent of it or not didnt matter anymore.
What I had lost, I would take back myself.
For the next few days, I was a prisoner in my own home. Mrs. Ashworth would drift by to call me a useless burden and ask when I was finally going to get out of her house.
I slammed the divorce papers down on the table in front of her.
The 20% stock transfer. Get your son to sign it, and Im gone.
Before the matriarch could reply, Isabelle, who had just swept in, spoke up.
Ill do it.
As the heiress to the Vance fortune, I knew she had the means to make it happen.
The next day, two signed documents were placed in my hands: the divorce decree and the stock certificate. I had just forwarded them to my lawyer when Hank stormed in.
He didn't say a word. He just grabbed a fistful of my hair and started dragging me out of the room. When did you become so vicious? I told you that baby is mine! How could you not spare it?
In the living room, Isabelle was collapsed on the sofa, covered in what looked like blood, clutching her stomach and wailing. When she saw me, her cries intensified. She slid to the floor and began banging her head on the marble, begging.
Claire, Im sorry! I shouldnt have taken your job! Ill never do it again! Please, dont hurt my baby
Im begging you! Do whatever you want to me!
Hank looked utterly devastated. He rushed to her side, gathering her in his arms. He turned to his bodyguards, his voice cold as ice. The knife she used on Isabelle I want her to feel the same pain.
The guards hesitated.
What are you waiting for? Do it! Hank roared, then quickly turned his head away, as if he couldnt bear to watch.
They tied me to the bed like a rag doll. From across the room, wrapped in Hanks protective embrace, Isabelle shot me a look of pure, triumphant malice.
The bodyguard holding the knife was trembling, unable to bring himself to do it.
A wild, hysterical laugh escaped my lips.
With a sudden burst of strength, I lunged, snatching the knife from his hand. I locked eyes with Hank, saw the dawning horror on his face, and plunged it deep into my own stomach.
Warm liquid gushed out, spattering my face. Through the red haze, my voice was a blade.
Hank, just as you wanted. You forced me to kill your son with my own hands!

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