Chapter 1 - The Blue Lights in Hidden Hills
The heavy oak doors of the Hidden Hills dining room remained closed, sealing the suffocating tension inside as we waited for the sirens. Jackson had stopped shouting. The arrogant, red-faced rage that had fueled his violent outburst was rapidly evaporating, replaced by the frantic, calculating panic of a cornered animal. He looked at his mother, Genesis, who was furiously wiping the spilled mushroom sauce and blood from the mahogany table with a linen napkin, destroying the crime scene.
"Tell them she slipped," Genesis hissed to the rest of the frozen family members. Her voice was a venomous, desperate whisper. "She drank too much wine, she tripped, and she hit her head on the edge of the serving platter. Do you all understand me?"
I stood by the wall, pressing a thick cloth napkin to the bleeding gash on my temple. The pain was blinding, a sharp, throbbing heat that radiated down my neck, but my mind was terrifyingly clear. I looked at the aunts, uncles, and cousins who had just watched my husband assault me. Some looked away in shame. Others nodded obediently at Genesis. They were preparing to gaslight me in front of the police to protect their golden boy.
When the heavy pounding echoed on the front door, Jackson’s father rushed to open it. Two Los Angeles County Sheriff’s deputies stepped into the grand foyer, their hands resting cautiously on their belts.
"We received a 911 call regarding a domestic assault," the older deputy announced, his eyes immediately locking onto me. My designer dress was ruined, soaked in dark blood and gravy.
Jackson immediately stepped forward, raising his hands in a posture of practiced, innocent surrender. "Officers, thank God you're here. It’s my wife. She’s had a terrible accident. She had a bit too much to drink, lost her balance, and fell into the china cabinet."
"Is that true, ma'am?" the younger deputy asked, stepping past Jackson and approaching me directly.
"No," I said, my voice steady, slicing through the heavy, lying air of the dining room. I pointed directly at Jackson. "My husband picked up a porcelain dinner plate and threw it directly at my head because I refused to sign my real estate property over to his mother. He assaulted me."
"She's hysterical!" Genesis shrieked, clutching her pearls. "Look at her, she’s confused from the fall! None of us saw him throw anything!"
"Is that so?" the older deputy asked, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room. He looked at the floor, then at the wall behind me.
Genesis had wiped the table, but she had forgotten the physics of a shattered plate. The deputy walked over to the expensive silk wallpaper behind my chair. Embedded in the drywall, at exactly the height of my head, were razor-sharp shards of porcelain and a massive splatter of blood and sauce.
"Unless your wife tripped upward and backward with enough velocity to embed porcelain into the drywall," the deputy said, his voice dropping to a lethal, uncompromising tone, "I'd say someone threw a projectile."
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He turned to Jackson, unhooking his handcuffs. "Jackson Miller, turn around and place your hands behind your back. You are under arrest for felony domestic battery with a deadly weapon."
Genesis screamed as the steel cuffs clicked shut around her son's wrists. Jackson thrashed, his mask completely slipping as he roared obscenities at me, threatening to destroy my life, proving to the deputies exactly what kind of monster he was. I walked out to the waiting ambulance, the flashing red and blue lights illuminating the end of my marriage, and the beginning of my absolute revenge.
