Chapter 4

I sat in a dimly lit corner of Maxwell's Bar, my fingers wrapped around a tumbler of scotch I had barely touched. The ice had melted, diluting the amber liquid—much like how my marriage had dissolved into something unrecognizable. The bar hummed with after-work chatter, but all I could hear was the echo of Nathan pushing my anniversary gift aside like unwanted clutter.

"You look like hell warmed over," Emma said, sliding into the booth across from me. Her dark eyes scanned my face with the same analytical precision she used when dissecting witness testimonies.

"Thank you for that astute…