He turned back to Eleanor with a wink. "See? I knew my wife would be reasonable."
Paul propped me up, and while he was distracted, I grabbed the bowl of porridge sitting on the nightstand—left behind by who knows who—and dumped it straight over his head.
I let out a cold laugh. "In your dreams."
Paul's face twisted with fury. Meeting my defiant stare, his hand rose instinctively.
Slap!
A sharp crack rang through the room.
But it didn't land on my face.
Jasmine Winfield stood there, a fruit basket in one hand and Paul's wrist caught in the other. She shoved him back and delivered a slap of her own across his cheek.
"Get out, both of you. You and your little homewrecker."
Eleanor rushed forward, tears streaming down her face. "I'm so sorry, Jessica. This is all my fault. Please don't blame Paul. As long as you two can work things out, I'll turn myself in. I'll go to prison willingly."
The moment Eleanor cried, Paul's heart melted on cue.
"Jessica Pruitt, don't push your luck." His voice dropped, low and venomous. "You think having some beat cop watching your back makes you untouchable? Your own parents couldn't protect you back then. What makes you think a cop is going to make any difference?"