Chapter 4

Around noon, Shawn texted me.

Shawn: [Julian's lawyer reached out. He wants to sit down with us.]

I wrote: [He hired a lawyer?]

Shawn: [More than that. He hired Henry Justice.]

Henry Justice had the highest win rate in divorce court in the city, and people called him the Divorce Terminator, because no client of his had ever walked out without what they came for.

I wrote: [So he wants to negotiate?]

Shawn: [No. He wants to stop the divorce.]

I leaned against the window and looked down at the river.

I wrote: [Set it up. Tomorrow, any time works.]

Shawn: [You feel good about this?]

I wrote: [I'm not asking him for anything. What does he have to stop me with?]

Shawn didn't answer right away, and half a minute later, one more line came through.

Shawn: [Don't forget the other clause in that prenup. While the divorce is pending, anything you do that damages the Eastgate name gives them the right to sue you for it. That message you posted yesterday, strictly speaking—]

I stared at that line for a long time.

So Julian wasn't in a hurry to end the marriage. He was in a hurry to shut me up.

That message was the leverage he needed, because in their reading I had damaged his reputation, which meant he could turn around and sue me for it.

I wrote: [Is there a way around it?]

Shawn: [There is. It takes time.]

I wrote: [How long?]

Shawn: [Give me three days.]

I set the phone down and went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

For three years, I had assumed the hardest part of that marriage was being frozen out. Leaving turned out to be the harder part.

The doorbell rang again.

I walked over and looked at the video screen.

Sophie Turner stood on the other side of my door, and the sight of her stopped me cold.

She had on a cream dress and flawless makeup, and she carried a bouquet of lilies.

"Mrs. Eastgate, can we talk?" she said.

I opened the door without inviting her in, and the two of us stayed there on the threshold.

Sophie held her polite smile steady in the fall wind.

"Mrs. Eastgate, these flowers are for you. I know you may have the wrong idea about me—"

"There's no wrong idea," I said.

Her smile froze for a second.

"Mrs. Eastgate, there's nothing between Mr. Eastgate and me. It's strictly work. He stayed at Emerald Bay those nights because of an urgent project, and my place is close to the office, so it was easier for him to work late—"

"Ms. Turner." I cut her off. "You live in Building Three, unit 1802. Julian's car sat in your assigned spot from 1 in the morning until 7, five nights running. Were the two of you working late in the garage?"

The corner of her mouth twitched.

"Mrs. Eastgate, let me explain—"

"Don't bother." I leaned against the door frame. "Did Julian send you here?"

She said nothing, but her fingers tightened around the stems.

"Let me guess. He wanted you to play out a warm little reconciliation with me, so I'd get emotional, delete the message, drop the divorce, and go back to being the wife who doesn't know anything?"

"Mrs. Eastgate—"

"Don't call me that."

I looked straight at her.

"If you want to be Mrs. Eastgate, say it out loud. Once I sign the papers, the seat is yours. Don't stand at my door and play innocent."

Her expression finally cracked.

Her eyes went red around the rims, but no tears came.

"Lauren, you really think he stopped coming home because of me?"

Her voice changed, and the sweet, attentive secretary disappeared.

"When do you think he stopped loving you?"

"What do you know?"

"I know plenty." She took a step back. "Like the real reason you married into that family. Like why they picked you. You thought it was because the two families matched on paper?"

She turned, and her heels struck the marble in the hallway.

A few steps out, she stopped.

"Go ask your father how that debt got settled."

She left, and the lilies stayed on the floor outside my door.