Chapter 1

I was a top-tier lawyer at a Big Law firm, and I had never lost a case.

But today, I saw my husband's name on the courthouse docket screen.

Under "Plaintiff" in today's trial schedule: Dominic Hayes.

The defendant was a luxury postpartum retreat center. Reason for suit: service dispute.

But I wasn't pregnant.

I pulled the court filing and found out he'd booked a $40,000 postpartum package for some woman. Under "Emergency Contact," it read: "Husband: Dominic Hayes."

Apparently, the woman was unhappy with the service, so Dominic sued the retreat center.

I stood in the courthouse lobby and laughed.

The intern beside me frowned. "Ms. Sterling, is everything okay?"

I flipped my ID badge over, revealing the wedding photo taped to the back.

"File a new case for me."

"Plaintiff: me. Defendant: Dominic Hayes. Cause of action: divorce."

I touched my face. My makeup was still intact.

When I walked into the courtroom, my steps were steadier than they'd ever been.

...

I filed the case on the spot.

The intern, Lina, looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

"Ms. Sterling, are you sure you want to file for divorce? The defendant... is your husband?"

I told the clerk, "The evidence is clear and sufficient. Please schedule the hearing as soon as possible."

She recognized me, paused for two seconds, then stamped the paperwork.

I took the receipt and walked out of the filing office. In the restroom at the end of the hallway, I splashed water on my face.

The woman in the mirror had perfect makeup and dry eyes. But my hands were shaking.

I used my attorney access to pull the full case file for Dominic's lawsuit against the retreat center.

The filing date was three days ago.

I flipped to page seven. It's a VIP Client Services Agreement.

Client name: Mia Kensington.

Emergency contact: Husband, Dominic Hayes.

The signature was his handwriting.

I knew it too well.

Straight lines, the final stroke tilting slightly upward.

I closed the file and walked to a quiet corner of the courthouse lobby. I dialed Dominic's number.

"Dom, my stomach hurts again." A woman's voice came through in the background, soft and whiny.

"Be good. Give me a second." Dominic lowered his voice. Then he spoke to me. "Elena, what's up? Aren't you in court today? Go do your thing."

His tone was casual.

I didn't mention the case file.

"Can you come home for dinner tonight? My mom's not doing well. I wanted to talk to you about transferring her to a different facility."

He went silent for two seconds.

"Can't tonight. Work dinner."

In the background, the woman spoke again.

"Thank you, Dom~"

The call ended.

I stood there holding my phone, thinking about last month. I'd had a stomach flare-up that left me doubled over on the floor. I called him.

He said, "Just take a pill. I'm in the middle of something."

Now, a woman said her stomach hurt.

And he said, "Be good."

That afternoon, I used my attorney access to look up Mia Kensington's information.

Her registered address was out of state. But her current residence, I read three times: 188 Lakeshore Drive, Harborview Towers, Unit 2301.

The lakefront penthouse Dominic had bought three months ago, supposedly for "employee housing."

He'd even asked me to co-sign the mortgage.

I'd stood beside him when I signed. He kissed my forehead and said, "Thanks for doing this."

The apartment I co-signed for—he'd set up another woman in it.

Dominic and I had been married for five years.

We still lived in the cramped apartment he'd bought before the wedding.

I'd suggested upgrading once. He said, "The place is fine. Save the money for the company."

I thought he was right. So I transferred my entire savings—$500,000—into his company.

Then he turned around and bought another woman a lakefront penthouse.

I scrolled through the details of the postpartum package: $40,000. The luxury tier.

Postpartum recovery treatments, private nutritionist, 24-hour care specialist, private suite with a view.

When my mom was hospitalized last year, Dominic said, "The costs are too high. Should we look at something more basic?"

My mom's care was $1,500 a month.

The woman's $40,000 package, he didn't even blink.

Near the end of the workday, the receptionist at the firm called my extension.

"Ms. Sterling, someone's here to see you."

I walked to the front desk and saw Dominic.

Next to him stood a woman with a pregnant belly, one hand on her stomach, the other looped through Dominic's arm.

Dominic looked furious. He was gripping a court summons in his hand.

The first words out of his mouth weren't an explanation. They were an accusation.

"Elena, have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what a divorce lawsuit will do to my company's reputation?"

The pregnant woman stood behind him and looked up at me. There was no guilt in her eyes.

Dominic had never come to my firm before.

In five years of marriage, I'd won Best Trial Lawyer three times.

I invited him to every ceremony.

He said, "It's just an award ceremony. What's the point?"

Today, because of a divorce summons, he showed up.

He could sue a retreat center over a woman's postpartum package. But he couldn't show up for my achievements once.

My gaze dropped to Mia Kensington's belly.

Dominic followed my line of sight, and his expression flickered.

"I can explain this."

I was about to respond when Richard Croft, the managing partner, walked over.

He pulled me aside and lowered his voice.

"Elena, Mr. Hayes is friends with several of our biggest clients. Calm down. You're wrapping up a state-level case right now. Filing for divorce at this moment could hurt your evaluation."

He wasn't wrong.

I was in the running for Top 40 Under 40 Trial Lawyers, the youngest in criminal defense. Any negative press could destroy my chances.

I looked at Dominic.

The corner of his mouth twitched. He knew I'd back down. In this marriage, he knew me too well.

Every time, I was the one who gave in.

I looked away and said to Richard, "I understand."

Then I turned and walked toward my office. Behind me, I heard Mia say softly, "Dom, she's so scary. I'm afraid."

Dominic's voice was low, but I heard every word.

"Don't be. I'm here."

I closed my office door and didn't turn on the light.

And stood in the dark for a long time.