Married to My Baby's Killer - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Vincent stared at the dress he'd sent for Jude. When it came back, it was untouched—still pristine, still perfect.
At first, he didn't get it. His brow furrowed as he demanded, "Missing? What do you mean? She's not home?"
"It's worse than that, sir…"
His secretary handed him the divorce papers, face tight with unease.
Vincent froze.
Before he could react, Estelle sauntered over, one hand resting on her belly. Spotting the papers, she let out a derisive snort. "Classic Judith. Grown woman still pulling these breakup stunts like some lovesick teenager. Pathetic."
"Vince, she's just throwing a tantrum because you stood up for me yesterday. She knows about the birthday party, the dress—all of it. Now she's yanking your chain to make you grovel. Trust me, I know how she operates. She's always played men like fiddles."
"Unbelievable. She hits me, then acts like she's the victim? After everything you've done—planning her party, designing that dress? You went out of your way for her, and this is how she repays you? Heartless."
"Relax, Vince. Ignore her, and she'll come crawling back. She's pushing thirty, multiple miscarriages, probably barren. Who else would take her? Women like her can't let go of what they've got. Don't give in, or she'll think she's running the show."
But Vincent said nothing, his gaze locked on the divorce papers.
Judith Blair's signature slashed across the page with such force the ink nearly bled through. No hesitation. No doubt.
Vincent knew Jude. She didn't make empty threats.
He remembered early in their marriage, Jude pregnant with their first child, curled beside him on the couch watching some reality show. A woman onscreen kept threatening divorce during fights, her husband scrambling to apologize each time.
Vincent had scoffed. "Disgusting. I'd never tolerate that."
Judith had turned to him, dead serious. "Vincent, if I ever say 'divorce,' it won't be a threat. It'll be a promise."
Back then, he'd been too preoccupied—plotting how to end the pregnancy. Estelle had shown up in tears, sobbing about Kenneth's impotence, how she'd suffer if he didn't become Long Enterprises' CEO.
He hadn't taken Jude's words seriously.
Now, remembering, dread coiled in his gut.
Around them, guests exchanged smirks. Not at him—at Judith.
Their circle had a nickname for her behind her back: The Miscarriage Maiden.
Vincent had always laughed it off before. Now, their stares burned. Resentment flared—toward them, toward Estelle.
Today was Jude's birthday. Did Estelle really have to air this dirty laundry in public?
They might not know why Jude kept losing babies, but Estelle? She knew exactly.
Vincent's voice turned icy. "Estelle, Jude's your cousin. Was that necessary?"
Estelle faltered. "I—I didn't mean— It's just, the way she treated you—"
"Bullshit. I've known Jude longer than you. She's no doormat, and she's never chased a man—not even when you stole Kenneth. So why trash her now? Thought you were her friend?"
He scanned the room. "Party's over. I'm finding my wife. Do what you want."
Estelle clutched his arm, pulling her old damsel-in-distress act. "Vince, I don't feel well. Don't go."
But the spell was broken. The fragile, helpless Estelle he'd protected? Gone.
He yanked free.
"See a doctor. Ken's back today. Go be with your husband—after all, I'm just your cousin." The words dripped frost.
"I've done enough for you. You and Ken? Handle your own messes. I'm done. And those things you said about Jude? Never again. Don't bite the hand that fed you."
He walked out without a backward glance.
Home barely an hour, his private doctor called.
"Mr. Long, that private fashion show for Estelle—it's leaked. If Madam sees it… She just miscarried. She can't take more stress!"
Vincent's stomach dropped. Someone had snapped photos—him and Estelle, splashed online for clicks.
Had Jude seen them?
Then his phone buzzed. A voice message.
From Judith.