Order. Order in my court. The gavel didn't just bang. It sounded like a gunshot. The entire courtroom froze.
Just seconds before, a mistress dressed in designer silk had done the unthinkable. She had physically kicked the soon-to-be ex-wife right in front of the bench, laughing as the poor woman fell to the floor. The millionaire husband smirked, thinking his high-priced lawyers had already won. But he didn't know one crucial detail. He didn't know that the man sitting on the high bench, the terrifying judge with the cold gray eyes, was the woman's father.
And he had just seen enough. The clinking of silverware against fine china echoed through the dining hall of the Sterling estate, a sprawling mansion in the hills of Connecticut that cost more than most people earned in 10 lifetimes. But for Elena Sterling, this wasn't a home. It was a prison wrapped in velvet and marble. Elena, wearing a faded gray cardigan that had seen better days, walked out of the kitchen carrying a heavy silver tray.
On it was a bottle of 1995 Château Margaux and two crystal glasses. Her hands trembled slightly, not from the weight, but from the sight of the two people sitting at the head of the table. Her husband, Richard Sterling, CEO of Sterling Global, and a man whose net worth hovered around the half billion mark, was laughing. He leaned back in his chair, his suit jacket off, tie loosened. Next to him, sitting in Elena's usual chair, was Jessica Marlo.
Jessica was everything Elena wasn't. She was loud, vibrant, and cruel. She wore a red dress that cost $5,000 and diamonds that glittered aggressively under the chandelier. She was Richard's personal assistant, a title that fooled absolutely no one, especially not the tabloids that had been running pictures of them together in Cabo for the last 3 months. Finally, Jessica sighed, rolling her eyes as Elena approached.
God, Richard, is she always this slow? I could have flown to Paris and back in the time it took to uncork a bottle. Richard didn't even look at his wife. He just held out his glass. Just pour it, Elena, and try not to spill it this time.
This rug is Persian. It's worth more than your life. Elena bit her lip, the metallic taste of blood familiar to her now. She poured the wine, her eyes fixed on the tablecloth. I'm sorry, Richard.
The cork was stubborn. Excuses, Jessica sneered. As Elena reached across to pour Jessica's glass, the mistress moved her arm just a fraction of an inch, but it was deliberate. Her elbow knocked Elena's wrist. The red wine splashed, not on the rug, but right onto the sleeve of Jessica's pristine white blazer.
The silence that followed was deafening. "You clumsy little idiot!" Jessica shrieked, jumping up and shoving her chair back. The screech of the wood against the floor was piercing. Look what you did.
This is custom Chanel. I—I didn't, Elena stammered, grabbing a napkin. You moved your arm. Don't you dare blame me, Jessica snapped. She snatched the napkin from Elena's hand and threw it on the floor.
Then she turned to Richard, her eyes welling with fake tears. Richard, look at this. She did it on purpose. She's jealous. She's trying to humiliate me in your house.
Richard stood up slowly. He was a tall man, imposing with a jawline that could cut glass and eyes that held zero warmth. He looked at the stain on Jessica's jacket, then at his wife of four years. "Elena," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Richard, she hit my arm," Elena whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Please, you saw it. Richard stepped closer, towering over her. Apologize to Jessica now or you sleep in the garage. It wasn't the first time he had threatened her. Elena looked at Jessica, who was smirking behind her hand, her fake tears instantly gone.
Elena took a deep breath, swallowing her pride. It felt like swallowing broken glass. I'm sorry, Jessica. Elena murmured. It was an accident.
Jessica laughed. A cold, sharp sound. An accident. Right. You're just lucky Richard is too kind to throw you out on the street where you belong.
Richard sighed, checking his Rolex. Actually, Jess, that brings me to the surprise. Elena looked up, confused. Surprise! Richard reached into his briefcase, which sat on the floor by his chair.
He pulled out a thick manila envelope and tossed it onto the table. It slid across the polished wood and stopped right in front of Elena. "What is this?" she asked, her heart hammering against her ribs. ""Freedom," Richard said, taking a sip of his wine. "For me.
Those are divorce papers, Elena. I had my legal team draft them up this morning. I'm done. I'm bored of the mousy housewife act. I need someone who fits my image.
Someone like Jessica. Elena felt the room spin. Divorce. But Richard, I've done everything for you. I quit my job.
I cut off my friends. I nursed you when you had that surgery last year. And you were compensated," Richard cut in coldly. "You've lived in luxury. You ate my food.
You wore the clothes I bought. But the ride is over. Jessica giggled, sipping her wine. "Read the fine print, sweetie. It's a prenup.
A really, really tight one. Elena opened the envelope with shaking fingers. She scanned the document. Clause 4: Complete separation of assets. Clause 12, no alimony.
Clause 15, immediate vacation of the premises. "You're leaving me with nothing," Elena whispered. "Richard, I have nowhere to go. My mother passed away 2 years ago. I sold my apartment to help fund your startup back when we met.
"Business is business," Richard shrugged. "You have until tomorrow morning to pack your things. Take whatever fits in two suitcases. Anything else stays. It's mine.
"Tomorrow? Elena choked out. Actually, Jessica chimed in, checking her nails. Ideally, tonight I have decorators coming in the morning. We're turning your sewing room into a walk-in closet for my shoes.
Richard nodded. She's right. Tonight is better. Get out, Elena. Elena looked at the man she had loved, the man she had sacrificed her own career for.
She saw nothing but a stranger. "Fine," Elena said, her voice suddenly steady. A strange calm washed over her. It was the calm of someone who had nothing left to lose. "I'll go.