Richard saw where I was looking and smirked. “Think of them as a preview of how little you’ll be taking home.”
The judge entered. Everyone stood.
My son kicked hard beneath my ribs, as if protesting before I could.
Judge Harrison looked over the paperwork with the weary patience of a man who had watched too many wealthy men mistake contracts for morality.
Richard’s lead attorney stood first. “Your Honor, the prenuptial agreement is clear. Ms. Sterling waived every claim to marital property, corporate holdings, residences, trusts, and future appreciation of assets tied to Sterling Capital.”
He pushed a file forward. “She leaves with the agreed settlement: one hundred thousand dollars and the personal possessions she brought into the marriage.”
Sloane whispered, “That’s generous,” and giggled again.
My throat burned. Not from fear. From memory.
Richard at midnight, slamming my laptop closed.
Richard telling me nobody would believe a pregnant woman with “hormonal mood swings.”
