A Young Wife's Wild Night - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
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My blood ran cold—this was worse than any curse.
When Tiffany Valentine got the news, it hit her like a freight train. In a panic, she demanded the doctors test the fetal tissue from her recent D&C. The results came back—undeniable. The DNA was a perfect match for her husband's.
The moment Tiffany saw the report, she let out a scream that could shatter glass and crumpled to the floor, overwhelmed by the crushing weight of betrayal.
Guilt does funny things to a person. When you're hiding something, your mind spirals into worst-case scenarios, logic be damned.
After wrestling with my conscience, I finally called Vincent Astor. If there was any way to salvage Tiffany's reputation—what little was left of it—I had to try.
I spun him a story: Tiffany had been coerced. She was drunk, taken advantage of, too terrified to come clean. That's why she couldn't face him that night, why she begged me to cover for her.
I threw Dominic Richter under the bus. Vincent, already reeling from the revelation that the child was his, softened when he heard Tiffany had been a victim. He admitted he still loved her—he'd tear up the divorce papers.
"Don't go after Dominic," I urged. "The man's already lost everything."
Vincent didn't respond. Just hung up.
I swallowed hard, praying he wouldn't escalate. If Dominic realized he'd been framed, he'd come for both of us.
But Dominic found trouble first.
The man was always a leech, but thanks to Tiffany's meddling, he was now flat broke—cut off from his family's money, blacklisted from every decent job. A little digging revealed Vincent had made sure of that.
Panic clawed at me. Dominic wouldn't take this lying down.
Sure enough, he snapped.
In a blind rage, he threatened to leak a secretly recorded video from their drunken night at the karaoke lounge. He even barged into Vincent's corporate office, forcing him to watch "proof" that Tiffany had been a willing participant.
Vincent had been mid-call with his lawyer, ready to stop the divorce. But the second that footage played, his expression turned to ice. He exploded, throwing Dominic out and strong-arming him into deleting the video—permanently.
Even a parasite like Dominic knew better than to push a real tycoon. Especially when offered a fat check alongside the threats. He took the money, handed over the footage, and vanished.
When Tiffany heard the full story, she shattered. She hasn't stopped crying since. I don't even know what to say to her anymore.
She was supposed to be recovering from surgery, but the emotional whiplash triggered Takotsubo cardiomyopathy. Now she's in the hospital under observation.
I thought the nightmare was finally over.
Then my husband came home from his business trip.
First words out of his mouth?
"We need to talk. I want a divorce."
"Why?"
Deep down, I already knew. But I clung to denial—until he hurled explicit photos in my face.
"Don't play dumb. Look what you've done!"
I picked them up.
There they were.
Images from that night.
"Enough said. It's over."
When Tiffany Valentine got the news, it hit her like a freight train. In a panic, she demanded the doctors test the fetal tissue from her recent D&C. The results came back—undeniable. The DNA was a perfect match for her husband's.
The moment Tiffany saw the report, she let out a scream that could shatter glass and crumpled to the floor, overwhelmed by the crushing weight of betrayal.
Guilt does funny things to a person. When you're hiding something, your mind spirals into worst-case scenarios, logic be damned.
After wrestling with my conscience, I finally called Vincent Astor. If there was any way to salvage Tiffany's reputation—what little was left of it—I had to try.
I spun him a story: Tiffany had been coerced. She was drunk, taken advantage of, too terrified to come clean. That's why she couldn't face him that night, why she begged me to cover for her.
I threw Dominic Richter under the bus. Vincent, already reeling from the revelation that the child was his, softened when he heard Tiffany had been a victim. He admitted he still loved her—he'd tear up the divorce papers.
"Don't go after Dominic," I urged. "The man's already lost everything."
Vincent didn't respond. Just hung up.
I swallowed hard, praying he wouldn't escalate. If Dominic realized he'd been framed, he'd come for both of us.
But Dominic found trouble first.
The man was always a leech, but thanks to Tiffany's meddling, he was now flat broke—cut off from his family's money, blacklisted from every decent job. A little digging revealed Vincent had made sure of that.
Panic clawed at me. Dominic wouldn't take this lying down.
Sure enough, he snapped.
In a blind rage, he threatened to leak a secretly recorded video from their drunken night at the karaoke lounge. He even barged into Vincent's corporate office, forcing him to watch "proof" that Tiffany had been a willing participant.
Vincent had been mid-call with his lawyer, ready to stop the divorce. But the second that footage played, his expression turned to ice. He exploded, throwing Dominic out and strong-arming him into deleting the video—permanently.
Even a parasite like Dominic knew better than to push a real tycoon. Especially when offered a fat check alongside the threats. He took the money, handed over the footage, and vanished.
When Tiffany heard the full story, she shattered. She hasn't stopped crying since. I don't even know what to say to her anymore.
She was supposed to be recovering from surgery, but the emotional whiplash triggered Takotsubo cardiomyopathy. Now she's in the hospital under observation.
I thought the nightmare was finally over.
Then my husband came home from his business trip.
First words out of his mouth?
"We need to talk. I want a divorce."
"Why?"
Deep down, I already knew. But I clung to denial—until he hurled explicit photos in my face.
"Don't play dumb. Look what you've done!"
I picked them up.
There they were.
Images from that night.
"Enough said. It's over."
End of A Young Wife's Wild Night Chapter 7. View all chapters or return to A Young Wife's Wild Night book page.