Stories about him spread like wildfire throughout the city, and people spoke of him in hushed tones, mixing fear with grudging admiration.
An employee bumped into me, scattering the divorce papers on the floor, and I knelt down to pick them up before someone could read too much.
Other hands, firm and precise, pounced on the documents in front of me, and I felt a strange tension even before I looked up. “You were trying not to break down in public,” the man said calmly, as if he’d known me for more than a few seconds.
I looked up and saw Ethan Vale kneeling in front of me, his gaze piercing as he studied the cover where my name and my husband’s name were printed in cold ink.
“She’s getting a divorce from Julian Carter,” he said, not asking but confirming.
“Yes,” I replied, feeling a lump in my throat despite myself, “as soon as this is over.”
He helped me up, with a brief but firm touch, and something changed in his expression, as if he understood more than he should.
“Did I know you were going to submit the application today?” he asked, his tone still calm but full of meaning.
“My lawyer took care of that,” I said, confused by his interest. “He already signed it.”
“What a shame,” Ethan replied, and I couldn’t tell if he was referring to me or someone else.
“Why do you care?” I asked, even though my instinct told me to leave and finish what I had come to do.
“Because her husband owes me five million dollars,” she said simply, as if she were talking about a parking ticket instead of a life-changing debt.
Before I could answer, everything changed.
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