Chapter 1 · Happy Divorce, Mr. Lawyer

I filed for divorce on the third day after Brantley Dorsey took over the Brightwell Holdings Acquisition Case.

Brantley's hand paused mid-pen, and he looked up at me like he was watching a kid sulk. "Custody goes to me."

He tossed out those words with casual certainty, like he was sure I wouldn't have the guts to argue.

I set the bank card with 96,000 dollars on it next to the divorce papers and gave him a small smile. "I'm returning the wedding bill. I'll transfer Jamie's child support to this card every month.

"Happy divorce, Mr. Dorsey."

He brushed it off, like it was nothing.

Three months later, he was standing across the negotiation table from me and saw me.

I'd never forget the look on his face right then, not in this lifetime.

*****

Brantley's office was on the top floor of Dorsey & Associates, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Downtown Financial District skyline.

When I pushed the door open, he was on the phone, a thick pile of case files stacked beside him, his brow knotted in concentration.

He glanced at me and mouthed, "Wait a sec."

I didn't wait.

I set the file folder on the corner of his desk, pulled out the divorce papers, flipped to the last page, and slid it over so he could see my signature: Emma Hubbard.

My hand didn't tremble when I signed my name on it.

Brantley hung up and glanced at the paper.

He didn't bother to take it. "What now?"

He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his tone as indifferent as if he were handling some tedious civil case.

"Brantley, I want a divorce." I set the pen down next to the divorce papers.

He finally looked at me.

But that look was all too familiar. In five years of marriage, I'd seen it a thousand times. It was the look of impatience, that hint of superiority, like everything I said was background noise to him.

Brantley said, "Emma, I'm busy right now."

I replied, "Yeah, I know. You are engaged in the Brightwell Holdings Acquisition Case, 1.1 billion dollars deal. You've been working on it for six months."

He arched his eyebrow, probably surprised I actually mentioned the exact number. "So what?"

"That's exactly why I picked today." I pointed at the papers. "You don't have time to waste arguing with me. So, sign it and make things simple."

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and there was a little smirk tugging at his lips.

That smirk made my stomach twist.

Brantley said, "Seems you've made up your mind." His tone was flat, not questioning. "Custody goes to me."

I sat down across from him and pulled the bank card out of my bag.

It was from National Trust Bank. The surface was a little worn. He'd given it to me five years ago.

"96,000 dollars. Not a cent cost. It's all there." I set the card down next to the divorce papers. "Here's the wedding bill.

"From now on, I'll transfer Jamie's child support to this card every month, 5,000 dollars, until he turns eighteen."

Brantley's smile vanished.

He stared at the card for three seconds, and then looked up at me.

This time, there was finally something in his eyes I hadn't seen before.

It wasn't sadness. It was confusion and that sharp alertness you'd see in top lawyers when something threw them off.

Brantley asked, "Emma, what are you doing?"

I said, "I already told you. I want a divorce."

Brantley's voice dropped. "Why? Is it because of Everlee? I've told you a million times. Nothing is going on between us—"

"Brantley." I cut him off. "It's not about Everlee."

I stood up and slung my bag back over my shoulder. "Have your assistant look over the agreement. If everything's fine, sign it and send it to the courthouse."

"Emma," he called after me.

I stopped at the door, but didn't turn around. "I'll pick up Jamie tonight. His kindergarten transfer's already been arranged. Starting tomorrow, he'll be living with me."

"Where are you staying?"

"It's not your business anymore."

I pulled the door open, and the cold wind from the hallway rushed in, sending a chill down my neck. "Happy divorce, Mr. Dorsey."

The moment the door closed, I heard him slam the pen down on the desk.

I didn't stop.

My fingers clenched the bag strap so tightly that my nails dug into my palm. I only loosened my grip once I got to the elevator.

There were four red marks across my palm.

I looked down at them and shoved my hand into my coat pocket.

Chapter 1

I filed for divorce on the third day after Brantley Dorsey took over the Brightwell Holdings Acquisition Case.

Brantley's hand paused mid-pen, and he looked up at me like he was watching a kid sulk. "Custody goes to me."

He tossed out those words with casual certainty, like he was sure I wouldn't have the guts to argue.

I set the bank card with 96,000 dollars on it next to the divorce papers and gave him a small smile. "I'm returning the wedding bill. I'll transfer Jamie's child support to this card every month.

"Happy divorce, Mr. Dorsey."

He brushed it off, like it was nothing.

Three months later, he was standing across the negotiation table from me and saw me.

I'd never forget the look on his face right then, not in this lifetime.

*****

Brantley's office was on the top floor of Dorsey & Associates, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Downtown Financial District skyline.

When I pushed the door open, he was on the phone, a thick pile of case files stacked beside him, his brow knotted in concentration.

He glanced at me and mouthed, "Wait a sec."

I didn't wait.

I set the file folder on the corner of his desk, pulled out the divorce papers, flipped to the last page, and slid it over so he could see my signature: Emma Hubbard.

My hand didn't tremble when I signed my name on it.

Brantley hung up and glanced at the paper.

He didn't bother to take it. "What now?"

He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his tone as indifferent as if he were handling some tedious civil case.

"Brantley, I want a divorce." I set the pen down next to the divorce papers.

He finally looked at me.

Brantley said, "Emma, I'm busy right now."

I replied, "Yeah, I know. You are engaged in the Brightwell Holdings Acquisition Case, 1.1 billion dollars deal. You've been working on it for six months."

He arched his eyebrow, probably surprised I actually mentioned the exact number. "So what?"

"That's exactly why I picked today." I pointed at the papers. "You don't have time to waste arguing with me. So, sign it and make things simple."

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and there was a little smirk tugging at his lips.

That smirk made my stomach twist.

Brantley said, "Seems you've made up your mind." His tone was flat, not questioning. "Custody goes to me."

I sat down across from him and pulled the bank card out of my bag.

It was from National Trust Bank. The surface was a little worn. He'd given it to me five years ago.

"96,000 dollars. Not a cent cost. It's all there." I set the card down next to the divorce papers. "Here's the wedding bill.

"From now on, I'll transfer Jamie's child support to this card every month, 5,000 dollars, until he turns eighteen."

Brantley's smile vanished.

He stared at the card for three seconds, and then looked up at me.

This time, there was finally something in his eyes I hadn't seen before.

It wasn't sadness. It was confusion and that sharp alertness you'd see in top lawyers when something threw them off.

Brantley asked, "Emma, what are you doing?"

I said, "I already told you. I want a divorce."

Brantley's voice dropped. "Why? Is it because of Everlee? I've told you a million times. Nothing is going on between us—"

"Brantley." I cut him off. "It's not about Everlee."

I stood up and slung my bag back over my shoulder. "Have your assistant look over the agreement. If everything's fine, sign it and send it to the courthouse."

"Emma," he called after me.

I stopped at the door, but didn't turn around. "I'll pick up Jamie tonight. His kindergarten transfer's already been arranged. Starting tomorrow, he'll be living with me."

"Where are you staying?"

"It's not your business anymore."

I pulled the door open, and the cold wind from the hallway rushed in, sending a chill down my neck. "Happy divorce, Mr. Dorsey."

The moment the door closed, I heard him slam the pen down on the desk.

I didn't stop.

My fingers clenched the bag strap so tightly that my nails dug into my palm. I only loosened my grip once I got to the elevator.

There were four red marks across my palm.

I looked down at them and shoved my hand into my coat pocket.