His First Love Killed My Unborn - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

I smoothed my clothes and kept my voice steady. "After what you just did, I could have you arrested for marital rape. You're the one who belongs in a police station."
His expression darkened. "You're the one who sent those fake, photoshopped pictures to the banquet hall and ruined Paula's reputation!" he shot back, his voice sharp with anger. "If she weren't so kind—if she didn't pity you after your miscarriage—she could've had you arrested for defamation!"
A dry laugh escaped me.
"Are you sure I photoshopped those pictures?"
"What else could it be?" he snapped, his tone dripping with certainty. "She's a kindergarten teacher in L.A.! How would she even end up in photos like that? Do you have any idea how illegal this is?"
I stayed silent, watching him closely as his voice softened.
"Look," he said, forcing calm, "I'll call Paula tomorrow. We'll all have dinner. You'll apologize to her, then send a statement to our classmates admitting the photos were fake. Then this whole mess can finally be over."
I studied his face, then let a faint, pitying smile curve my lips.
"Fine," I said quietly. "No problem. It's time to settle this."
His relief was instant. "That's my wife! Let's just put this behind us. A fresh start for the New Year—that's how it should be."
The next day, I arrived at the restaurant to find Paula already seated. Her cold, guarded eyes flicked to me as I approached.
Ian, ever the gentleman, pulled out my chair. I sat calmly as he poured three glasses of red wine.
"Paula," he said with an awkward smile, "Sherrie was out of line the other day. This dinner is our way of making it right. Let's move forward, okay?"
He handed her a glass, then passed one to me.
I swirled my wine idly but made no move to apologize. Paula's frown deepened.
"Ian," she said sharply, "an apology should mean something. What exactly is Sherrie's attitude right now?"
I arched a brow, set my glass down, and stood. Slowly, I walked toward her.
She tensed, eyeing me warily before reluctantly picking up her own glass.
In one swift motion, I flung the wine straight into her face.
For a second, she just sat there, stunned. Then her eyes burned with fury as she whipped toward Ian, silently demanding backup.
"Sherrie, have you lost your damn mind?!" Ian roared before immediately softening as he turned to Paula. "Are you okay?"
I nearly rolled my eyes at the performance.
"Go ahead," I said coldly. "Tell her to call the police. Even if she had a hundred chances—do you really think she'd dare?"
Ian snatched a napkin, dabbing at Paula's face while glaring at me. "Sherrie! Apologize to her now!"
I ignored him and pulled out my phone, pulling up a Facebook album. "Take a good look," I said, shoving the screen at him. "Now tell me again—do you still think those photos are fake?"
Ian froze, his eyes locked on the images before flicking to Paula, whose face had gone ghostly pale.
With a sharp crack, his wine glass hit the floor and shattered.
Paula hadn't realized that after adding me on Instagram, Facebook's algorithm would push her profile to me.
Her account was filled with late-night selfies—some suggestive, others outright explicit. It wasn't hard to guess her real profession.
The irony was almost beautiful.
The woman Ian had worshipped as a "pure white jasmine" had already been passed around by countless men.
"Paula," Ian's voice shook as he turned on her, "what the hell do you actually do in L.A.?"
She panicked, tears streaming as she shook her head. "Ian, it's not what you think! Let me explain—"
But his temper snapped. He slapped her hard across the face.
"You lying whore! You've ruined me!" he shouted before storming out, already dialing his phone. "Liu Tao? You working today? Good—I'm coming to the hospital for a checkup."
As for me? I didn't stick around for the drama. I filed for divorce without hesitation.
When Ian got the court summons, it finally sank in—I wasn't bluffing.
And for the first time, he seemed to regret it.