My husband, Chadwick Justice, was convinced I had murdered his mistress. He threatened me with divorce-and with pinning the crime of murder on me.
Now Chadwick stood over me, his tall, muscular frame blocking the only ceiling light in the VIP box of the TD Garden arena.
As the superstar captain of Boston's premier NHL franchise and the heir to the Justice empire, he looked down at me with absolute authority.
He snatched the heavy black fountain pen from the table and hurled it down in front of me. Dark ink splattered across my pale face.
"Sign it," Chadwick commanded, his voice cold and gravelly, as if crawling up from hell. "Then get out of my sight. I don't want to lay eyes on you one more time."
I forced my head up to meet his furious gray-blue eyes, my voice raspy.
"I didn't push her, Chadwick. The escalator lost power and she missed her step."
He let out a mocking laugh, leaning down to grab my jaw with a rough hand calloused from years of gripping a hockey stick. His fingers dug in so hard my bones ached.
A sharp gasp escaped my lips. Tears pooled in my eyes from the sheer physical pain, though I bit my lower lip to keep them from falling, prying at his iron grip with both hands.
Instead of letting go, he yanked me up from the leather sofa, the heavy scent of his cedarwood cologne suffocating me.
Outside the VIP box door, two arena security guards whispered in the hallway.
"The Captain is losing his mind today. Even the General Manager is staying clear of this floor. That woman is done for."
Chadwick slammed my back against the cold glass wall overlooking the empty ice rink below.
"Do you really think I'd believe a murderer's excuses?" he snarled. "Anabel was carrying my child!"
With his free hand, he grabbed the thick divorce papers and slapped them against my chest. The stiff edge of the paper scraped across my collarbone, leaving a thin red mark.
Looking down at the red streak on my skin, I felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head, freezing me from the inside out. Fifteen years of loving this man shattered under the pure disgust in his eyes.
I stopped fighting him. When he opened his hand, my body slid down the glass wall onto the freezing floor.
Picking up the leaking pen from the carpet, I signed "Hope Corbett" on the bottom line with shaking fingers, while an invisible hand squeezed my heart so tightly I could barely breathe.
Chadwick snatched the contract back without glancing at my signature and looked toward the door.
"Drag her down to the memorial service."
Two bodyguards in black suits stepped inside, grabbing my arms and hauling me out of the box as my feet stumbled over the threshold.
They pulled me down the long, silent corridor under the glare of white fluorescent lights that made my head spin, then took the service elevator down to the main concourse.
Chadwick walked ahead of us, the hem of his tailored black overcoat flaring out behind him.
The ground floor lobby, usually packed with cheering hockey fans, was draped in black and white cloth, heavy with the suffocating smell of white lilies.
In the center of the hall stood a massive black-and-white portrait of Anabel Osborne, the famous supermodel and Chadwick's cherished sweetheart, smiling with fake innocence.
Outside the glass doors, a heavy autumn rainstorm pounded the pavement, thunder rumbling over the rapid clicking of dozens of camera shutters inside the lobby.
Chadwick stopped in front of the memorial platform and turned to me, his gaze filled with revulsion.
"Kneel and repent to her."
My eyes widened, my legs stiff as lead.
"I will never kneel to a liar," I whispered, my heart drowning in humiliation.
Chadwick stepped forward and kicked the back of my knees without hesitation.
Pain exploded through my joints as my knees crashed onto the marble floor with a dull thud, cold sweat drenching my back.
When I tried to push myself up, a bodyguard pressed his heavy boot onto my calf, pinning me down in front of Anabel's portrait.
Camera flashes blinded me from all directions as reporters surged forward against the ropes.
"So that's the jealous ex-wife who killed Anabel? Shameless!"
"How did the Justice family ever let a gold digger like her near the Captain?"
Chadwick stood bathed in the flashing lights, watching me get torn apart by the press without saying a word.
I bit down on my lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, my fingers curling into tight fists against the stone floor.
Chadwick bent down, his lips brushing my ear so only I could hear him over the shouting crowd.
"This is just the beginning of your hell, Hope."
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