Chapter 4

On Thursday afternoon, I took half a day off and went to Grant & White.

The firm occupied two full floors in the financial district. The lobby was all glass, steel, and severe black-and-white restraint. Even the sign on the reception wall looked expensive.

After checking my appointment, the receptionist led me to a large corner conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows over half the city.

The view was stunning.

I could not enjoy it.

There was something about that room that made me feel examined before anyone even walked in.

A few minutes later, the door opened.

Ethan came in wearing a dark blue shirt with the tie removed and the collar slightly open. He looked less lethal than he had in the parking garage, but only slightly. The eyes were still sharp enough to cut.

"Ms. Lane."

He sat across from me and pushed over a heavy file.

"This is everything we currently have."

I opened it.

Hotel receipts. Gambling ledgers. Loan contracts. Evidence of hidden assets. Evidence of debt. Evidence of cheating. Evidence of a life built on rot.

"Your ex-husband's finances are worse than expected," Ethan said calmly. "He is effectively broke and carrying close to three hundred thousand dollars in debt. His interest in custody is entirely strategic. He wants leverage. He wants money."

My fingers tightened around the papers.

"Once the judge sees this, Luca stays with me. Right?"

"Legally, yes." His gaze did not soften. "But you are being naive, Evie."

The use of my first name hit harder than it should have.

"You think a favorable ruling ends this? Men like Derek do not respond to court orders the way reasonable people do. The more frightened and accommodating you are, the more they feed on it."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" I asked. "I still have a job. I still have a child. I can't spend every day waiting for him to come after us."

"Fight back."

Two words. Hard as stone.

"Stop carrying yourself like prey. The law is useful, but not if you won't pick up the sword."

The rebuke landed deep because part of me believed it.

I had been enduring for so long that I had forgotten endurance and surrender were not the same thing.

Before I could answer, my stomach seized violently.

Pain shot through me so sharply that I bent over before I could hide it.

Cold sweat broke over my back.

Ethan frowned, stood, and walked out without a word.

For a painful second, I thought he was irritated by the inconvenience I represented.

He returned less than two minutes later with warm water and a prescription stomach medication packet from the firm's emergency cabinet.

"Take this."

I looked up.

"Now," he said.

I obeyed.

Once the pain dulled enough for me to breathe, he remained standing beside the table, one hand braced against the edge, watching me with an intensity that made me look away first.

"You're very good at functioning while falling apart," he said quietly.

I let out a brittle laugh. "Occupational skill."

"That isn't a compliment."

Something in his tone stripped away my automatic defenses.

"No," I admitted. "It isn't."

He stayed with me until the cramping passed. When I finally gathered the file to leave, he took it from my hands.

"I'll walk you out."

In the elevator, neither of us spoke.

At street level, just before the doors opened, he said, "Strength is not pretending you feel nothing. Strength is deciding what happens next."

The words followed me all the way back to the hotel.