Bigamy With Intent

That simple refusal confirmed every wild suspicion in the room.
Ignoring his rigid stance, I began to recite the relevant statutes from memory, a skill honed over years of practice, and pointed toward the baby in his arms. “Richard, you have a child. This isn't just infidelity. This is tantamount to bigamy.”
He remained unnervingly calm. “The child was an accident. But now that he’s here, I can’t let a Vaughn heir be cast out on the street. You’re overthinking this, Claire.”
That’s when the dam inside me broke. All the composure I’d built crumbled into dust.
“You told me you never wanted children!” I stared into his eyes, searching for a flicker of the man I once knew. “You said you hated them!”
Finally, his composure cracked.
He violently kicked a chair out of his way, stormed over, and grabbed my wrist. “Claire, have you made enough of a scene? We can talk about this at home! I have a perfectly reasonable explanation!”
A reasonable explanation?
While I was on a three-year assignment for our future, he, my husband, had taken a new wife. The man who swore he was child-free now had a plump, healthy son with a woman named Monica. I couldn’t begin to imagine what twisted logic he considered “reasonable.”
The air between us crackled with ice. Suddenly, Monica stood up, inserting herself between us. “Richard, are you giving up on custody?” she asked, her voice a carefully crafted mix of challenge and vulnerability. “Fine. Then I’ll petition for sole, permanent custody. I don’t need a dime from you. I’ll find him a real, responsible father.”
In the next instant, Richard’s grip on my wrist vanished.
He was gone.
The woman, Monica, held their baby, her gaze locked on Richard’s retreating back. It was only then that I truly saw her. She was draped in a diamond-studded couture gown, the very image of the high-society wife Richard had always said he wanted.
Then I looked at myself. My severe, practical business suits. In his words, I didn’t have the first clue how to be a proper wife and mother.
My chest felt like it had caved in.
In eight years of marriage, Richard had never once given me the chance to be a mother. It started with layers of precautions and ended with him moving into a separate bedroom. I had told myself I could live with his choice, that our eight years together meant something. But the welcome-home gift after three years of grueling work in London wasn't a party or a kiss—it was the sight of him holding the child I had always longed for.
In front of a packed courtroom, Richard abandoned me again, chasing after Monica, terrified she might actually find a new father for his son. The Vaughn family was practically royalty in New York; an illegitimate child would be a scandal, but one they could easily weather.
The court did not grant the divorce.
I remembered my brother, Julian, a captain in the Chicago PD. Years ago, he had pressed the barrel of his service weapon to Richard’s temple. “You can marry my sister,” he’d said, his voice deadly calm. “But if you ever betray her, don’t think for a second I won’t find you.”
Richard's vows echoed in my memory, a ghostly reminder of a bridegroom who no longer existed.
I pulled out my phone and dialed my brother in Chicago.
“If the court won’t grant me a divorce,” I said, my voice cold as steel, “then let’s have it grant him a prison sentence.”
I walked into the home I hadn’t seen in three years, ready to pack my bags and leave this life behind. I didn’t know when Richard had returned, but he met me in the foyer. The first thing I felt was a sharp, stinging slap across my face.
“You took this case on purpose, didn’t you?” he snarled. “To humiliate Monica in front of everyone. Did that make you feel good, Claire? Did it make you feel powerful?”
I clenched my fists, the nails digging into my palms. I couldn’t speak. Three years apart, and our reunion was this ugly, violent confrontation. Suddenly, it all felt so pointless.
“Why did you refuse the divorce in court?” I asked, my voice flat. “I gave you an out.”
A flicker of something—was it panic?—crossed his eyes. He ground his teeth. “What the hell is your problem, Claire? It’s just a child! Your own father had a child on the side, didn't he? He abandoned you and your brother. Your mother put up with it, didn't she?”
He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. “Why can’t you?”
His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist, the pain sharp and immediate. I stared at him, my eyes burning, the world shrinking to just his furious face. He knew. He knew my father’s affair and my mother’s subsequent death was the deepest wound of my life, a scar I never showed anyone. And he had just plunged a knife right into it.
Seeing my silence, he grew more agitated. “It’s always cases, assignments in other countries, spouting legal jargon! For all these years, you’ve worn nothing but these soulless, black suits!”
He paused, his lip curling in a sneer. “No man wants a hard-ass like you, Claire.”
Then came the final, killing blow.
“That’s why I said I was child-free,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “Because the thought of being with you… it does nothing for me.”
It was like a sledgehammer to the chest, shattering my ribs, my heart, my very soul.
The shrill ring of a phone cut through my agony. Richard answered. I could hear Monica’s weak, panicked voice on the other end.
“It was your wife, wasn’t it? She cut my brakes! If you didn’t want this baby, you could have just said so!”
The line went dead.
Richard’s face twisted into a mask of pure fury. He looked possessed. “Claire! What did you do to them? Did you touch them?”
I was done with this man, this life. What more could I possibly do?
Before I could answer, he was dragging me by the wrist, shoving me into his car. He deliberately prevented me from buckling my seatbelt, then peeled out onto the street, driving like a madman. We swerved through traffic, the tires screaming, until he deliberately smashed through a guardrail.
I lunged for the steering wheel, but he threw me back against the passenger-side window with brutal force.
“You have the guts to cut Monica’s brakes, but not enough to enjoy a little thrill ride?” he yelled over the engine’s roar. “If anything happens to them, Claire, I swear, this will be the last thing you ever experience!”
Blood from a cut on my forehead streamed down my face, blurring my vision. He dragged me from the wrecked car and into the sterile brightness of a hospital, shoving me into a private room where, to my horror, his parents were already waiting.
The moment they saw me, they looked at me as if I were a monster.
His mother pointed a trembling finger at my nose, her voice laced with hatred. “Claire, I’m the one who begged them to have that child! If you have a problem, you take it up with me!”
Her voice rose to a shriek. “Your body was useless for eight years, not a single sign of life! Monica gave this family a child in your place! You should be on your knees thanking her, not trying to kill her!”
My heart thudded painfully. So, it was true. Monica wasn't just his mistress; she was sanctioned by the Vaughn family. Not just Richard, but his parents, too, saw her as the real Mrs. Vaughn. No wonder she could parade around New York with that title, and no one dared to correct her. A wave of suffocating grief and injustice washed over me.
A doctor entered, looking awkward after his examination. “Ms. Monica just has a sprained ankle. The baby is completely fine.”
But Richard didn't care. He had them moved to the most expensive suite in the hospital, with a dozen specialists on call. “What if there are internal injuries?” he raged, turning his glare on me. “If something had happened to that baby, you would have been happy, wouldn’t you!”
His mother quickly covered his mouth. “Don’t say such unlucky things! This is our precious grandson.” Then, she turned back to me. “What are you standing there for? Apologize to Monica. Now.”
His parents had always looked down on my family, my career. They said I was too visible, too aggressive, that I lacked the quiet dignity of a high-society wife.
I gritted my teeth, my gaze sweeping over their hostile faces. “I didn’t do it. You can’t convict me on her word alone. You need evidence.”
The words were barely out of my mouth when another slap cracked across my face. It was Richard, his chest heaving with rage. “Evidence? Evidence! Do you have any idea how fast I could have you disbarred? I’ll sue you into oblivion, and you’ll never practice law again!”
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Eight years of marriage, erased by one woman and her child.
As I looked at his enraged face, I was about to give in, to say whatever they wanted to hear, when my eyes caught something around the baby’s neck. A small, familiar chain.
My heart seized. I looked at Richard, my voice a disbelieving whisper. “That’s my mother’s locket. You knew it was the only thing I have left of her. You stole it and gave it to him?”
He stood there, hands in his pockets, without a trace of remorse. “It’s the only useful thing your mother ever left you,” he said coldly. “She failed to raise a decent daughter, but at least her trinket can protect the Vaughn family heir.”
A roar filled my ears. I lost control. I lunged forward, a desperate, primal need to get it back consuming me.
His parents shielded the baby. Monica clutched him, her face a mask of tear-streaked victimhood. “Please, just leave my baby alone!” she cried, ripping the locket from the infant’s neck. “Here, take it back!”
A glint of silver flew through the air.
It hit the marble floor with a sharp crack and split in two.
My world stopped. My vision narrowed, my breath hitched. Everything went silent.
A heavy shove sent me stumbling backward. “Don’t push it, Claire!” Richard yelled.
He glanced at the broken pieces on the floor, his voice dismissive. “It’s a worthless piece of jewelry. Is it really worth all this drama?”
Pushing it? Not worth it?
I stared at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears, and a wild, broken laugh bubbled up from my chest. “Then agree to the divorce, Richard! Or who knows what I’ll be capable of next!”
He froze, speechless.
I never imagined that one angry, desperate threat would plunge me into a nightmare far worse than I could have ever conceived.
Richard had the broken locket swept up and thrown out with the trash.
That night, a torrential rain hammered the city. I was on my knees in a reeking landfill, digging through filth and garbage, searching for the pieces of my mother. My tears mixed with the rain as I screamed my anguish at the storm-blackened sky.
“Mom,” I sobbed, “I finally understand the pain you went through.”
My fingers were raw and bleeding, caked with mud, when the world finally went black. I collapsed amidst the ruins of other people’s lives.
I woke to a splash of icy water. Richard’s face, dark and menacing, loomed over me.
“Claire,” he seethed, “I really underestimated you.”
“You threatened me yesterday, and today you acted on it. Where is the child? Tell me where you hid him!”
He stared at me as if he wanted to rip open my chest and see the blackness of my heart. I curled my bleeding fingers into fists, pushing myself up from the cold floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The next thing I knew, one of his bodyguards kicked the back of my knees, and I crashed to the ground.
Monica rushed forward, her face a performance of despair. “Claire, please, I’m begging you, just give me my baby back. I’ll disappear, I swear. I’ll never go near Richard again!”
Looking at her phony, tear-streaked face filled me with nausea. I couldn’t stop myself. I spat at her, my voice raw with fury. “You hid him yourself! You’re framing me, you understand that? This is a crime!”
Richard’s hand struck me again, harder this time. He shoved his phone in my face. A grainy security video played, showing a woman with my build, wearing my coat, carrying a baby away. “Still lying? That’s you on camera. What else do you have to say?”
His face was a mask of pure disappointment. “I never thought you were this venomous. To harm a helpless infant…”
“That’s not me!” I screamed, my voice tearing from my throat. “That’s Monica! She set me up!”
My mother-in-law, who had just arrived, rushed at me, pushing me hard. “You can’t stand Monica, can you? Today you kidnap her son, tomorrow you’ll kidnap her, and the day after that you’ll be coming for me!”
Richard’s face went completely cold. Before I could say another word, he ordered his men to haul me to my feet. They tied my wrists to a pipe overhead. He picked up a thick leather belt, snapping it in the air with a menacing crack.
“Let’s see how long you can keep your mouth shut, Claire.”
One. Two. Three. The blows landed on my back and chest, each one a line of fire searing my skin. I could feel the flesh splitting open. By the tenth strike, Richard suddenly stopped. He handed the belt to a bodyguard.
“Question her properly,” he commanded, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’m going to look for the baby myself. God knows what this lunatic is capable of.”
His back, as he walked away without a second glance, blurred and disappeared from my vision. As Monica followed him, she turned, and in the one spot he couldn’t see, she gave me a triumphant little smirk.
My wrists burned from the ropes. Tears streamed down my face.
Richard had never trusted me. Not once.
Crack.
The sound pulled me back. The bodyguard had dipped the belt in cold water, and the next lash felt like being branded with ice and fire at the same time.
“Talk! Where did you hide the young master?”
Each strike exploded against my skin before the pain from the last one had even begun to fade.
“Please… stop…” I gasped. “This is… illegal…”
They laughed, the strikes growing more vicious. My agonized screams echoed through the empty warehouse.
By the ninety-ninth lash, I had nothing left. I hung like a broken doll, a mass of torn flesh, no longer able to struggle.
As my consciousness faded into a merciful gray fog, a man’s furious roar ripped through the air.
“ENOUGH!”
Through a haze of pain, I looked up and saw Richard, stumbling, running towards me.
But just before he could reach me, the doors burst open.
The room was flooded with police officers in Chicago PD uniforms. They swarmed him, surrounding him completely. The captain at the front, my brother, slapped a warrant against Richard’s chest.
“Richard Vaughn,” Julian snarled, his voice shaking with rage. “Bigamy and aggravated assault. Who the hell gave you the balls?”

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