They Called Her a Reptile
Chloe Finch was the aspiring actress I'd sponsored for five years.
From a small town to the fringes of Hollywood, I paid for every cent of her acting classes and living expenses.
I had treated her like a sister.
When she was diagnosed with a rare hereditary progeria syndrome, I even begged my husband, Jorge Thorne—Emerald Hills' most celebrated plastic surgeon—to get her a spot in a top gene therapy trial.
But on the day she signed with a small-budget independent film…
I went to his downtown penthouse early, wanting to give him a surprise.
Instead, I found Jorge pressing her against an Italian leather sofa, gently kissing her slightly swollen belly.
"Jorge, if Rhiannon finds out about our baby, will she take away my spot in the trial?"
Jorge pulled her into his arms, his voice smooth with its practiced, magnetic charm.
"Don't worry. A woman like Rhiannon is so rational she’s practically a reptile. She could never understand the kind of soul-deep connection we have—the passion of two true artists."
"Besides, she’ll behave. She knows I’m up for the cover of Apex magazine and won't do anything to jeopardize my chances."
"Once I secure that one-of-a-kind clinical trial spot for the gene therapy, I'll divorce her and give you and our child a real future."
I stood frozen outside the door, the biological key chip I’d just picked up from the lab growing cold in my hand.
I didn't push the door open. I didn't cause a scene.
I just calmly snapped it in two and tossed it into a decorative vase in the hallway.
Jorge Thorne.
You had no idea, did you?
And the final approval for that trial? It comes from me. The very wife you just called cold-blooded.