Part 2From Scorned Wife to Ship's Queen

Because I was that designer. And this fashion show was a prelude to my husband, Tim Thorne's, corporate event. We'd specifically invited high-profile models, and I distinctly recalled scanning the roster – Tiffany Hayes was not on it.

Then, it clicked, like lightning striking. One of the models had an unexpected emergency, and Tiffany was brought in as a last-minute replacement. Checking my watch, I met her gaze, my voice flat. "Shouldn't you be backstage getting ready by now?"

Tiffany's face stiffened, clearly offended by my tone. "Don't pretend to know everything, Elle. What do you know? It's still early!"

My brows furrowed. Such unprofessionalism. No wonder she'd gone nowhere in all these years.

Seeing me alone, Tiffany suddenly linked her arm through Andrew's, her voice turning saccharine sweet. "Elle, dear, is something wrong? This cruise ship isn't exactly easy to get onto. I've heard some people sneak in with unsanctioned tickets, hoping to snag a rich husband."

Her implication was clear. Andrew's gaze lingered on me, a complex expression on his face, then flickered to my gown. His voice, surprisingly, held a tinge of sadness. "Eleanor, that's not something you'd usually wear. Did you rent it? Or borrow it?" He pulled out a card and offered it to me. "Here's thirty thousand. You're still Jack's mother, after all. I can't just stand by and watch you stumble into trouble. I thought when you left so decisively, you'd found something better. I never imagined you'd end up like this..." His voice trailed off, laced with a smug, almost pitying regret.

Tiffany covered her mouth, giggling. "Perhaps it's a replica, Elle. Don't be embarrassed. This money is nothing to us, but it might help you avoid looking so… desperate."

But before her words fully hung in the air, a young woman's voice cut in. "That's no replica. The craftsmanship and fabric are unmistakable. Plus, it's one of Thorne Design's latest pieces – almost impossible to get your hands on."

Tiffany's face froze. She spun around, ready to snap, then her eyes widened. It was Brenda Walsh, an old acquaintance. Brenda's face lit up. She embraced Tiffany warmly. "Darling, what a surprise to see you! How have you been? We completely lost touch after you got pregnant years ago!" She glanced at Jack, a hint of confusion in her eyes. "Is this your son? He looks a bit... old for the timeline."

Tiffany's composure faltered. She forced a strained smile. Her voice came out strained. "There... there was an accident. I lost the baby."

I felt a flicker of surprise, yet it wasn't entirely unexpected. Andrew had severe fertility issues. I never told him, wanting to spare his pride. Behind his back, I'd endured countless fertility treatments and injections, even a massive hemorrhage, almost losing the baby myself. But Andrew, far from comforting me, had endlessly condemned me during my postpartum recovery. I cried for three days straight until my vision blurred, then faded. Only then did I realize I couldn't afford to cry anymore. The past was a grimy, tattered rag I desperately wanted to wring out and discard. I sighed inwardly, pushing the ugly memories away.

Brenda offered a few awkward condolences, then excused herself. I checked my watch, deciding it was time to leave too.

But Tiffany grabbed my arm, her fingers digging deep into my skin. Her face crumbled, eyes blazing with hatred. "You're thrilled, aren't you? That my baby is gone! It's all your fault! Andrew was constantly out searching for you, never home! That's why I got so upset, and I miscarried! You… you murderer!"

The pain made me instinctively push her away. Then I froze. He was looking for me? For what purpose? Wasn't he the one who insisted on the divorce in my last life? Besides, what did Tiffany's miscarriage have to do with me? Andrew's fertility issues made it a high risk from the start. And she was starving herself. It was her own doing.