I once had a best friend. She was so good to me, it felt like a performance. She married my ex-boyfriend, whose family was fantastically wealthy. She told me all rich men were terrible, so she was taking a bullet for me. She sold the Cartier wedding set he gave her, then told him the money was for my birthday gift. She maxed out the Amex Centurion card her husband had given her, then told him it was to pay off my gambling debts in Las Vegas. She was pregnant, but after sleeping with her husband's younger brother, she began to hemorrhage. She told everyone I’d been sleeping with strangers, and when she tried to talk some sense into me, I’d pushed her, causing the miscarriage. In the end, her husband dragged me to an abandoned warehouse outside the city and handed me over to some of his brother's criminal associates to make me "pay the price." I was violated there, and left to die in that wasteland. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she cheated and had the miscarriage. ... Every time Helena went to see her lover, she told her husband, Desmond DeLuca, that she was coming to keep me company. She always had a new excuse. Sometimes, she’d say I was reeling from a breakup and couldn't be alone. Other times, she’d claim I’d lost a fortune gambling and was a wreck. She even said I was having an abortion and she needed to be there for me. If Desmond hadn't shown up at my door in my previous life, his face a mask of rage as he listed every "sin" I'd committed, I might never have known how twisted my life sounded coming from someone else. Just then, Desmond's call came through. The second I answered, he was yelling. "Beatrice, do you have any idea what time it is? Why is Helena still at your place?" "I've had it with you. Grow up. The world doesn't revolve around you." "Helena is a married, pregnant woman. Stop clinging to her. Do you have any idea how pathetic you look?" "Or is this just you holding a grudge because I broke up with you? Are you trying to wreck my marriage? Helena is innocent in all this. If you keep using her, I'm done being nice. Send her home. *Now*." His voice was loud, his anger a raw, physical force. I could hear it in his tone—he was at the end of his rope. Back when I dated Desmond, I had always thought he was gentle. But Helena always said men were master actors, that they'd put on a show until you bought it. Whenever Desmond was a little kinder to me, Helena would insist he must have done something to feel guilty about. Later, Desmond and I hit a rough patch. Helena used that time to get close to him, filling his head with "stories" about me. With her poisoning the well, Desmond and I fell apart. If I hadn't once walked in on Helena twining her stockinged leg around Desmond's calf, I might have actually believed she was just helping me see him for the jerk he was. Not long after that, they were married. From then on, I made a point of keeping my distance from them both. But Desmond clearly didn't see it that way. He still called, frequently, to interrogate me. My life had been reduced to two functions: going to work and covering for Helena. The problem was, I never had any idea where she was or what she was doing. All I could do was parrot the lines she fed me. Until that day in my last life, when Desmond stormed into my apartment, screaming obscenities before he threw a bag over my head, shoved me into a car, and drove me to that warehouse. Only then did I finally understand that I was just the shield she used to protect herself. Thinking of how my last life had ended, a cold fury ignited inside me. Desmond DeLuca, tonight, you're going to be the one to rip your own perfect family apart. I said calmly into the phone, "Helena said she's playing cards and is on a winning streak. She doesn't want to come home. If you're that worried, you can pick her up yourself. She's at the hotel—......
