I took out my phone, found Mila’s message, and placed it on the table.
My lawyer read it aloud.
Please don’t drag me into whatever is happening between you two.
Axton’s attorney stopped taking notes.
Axton stared at the message, then shook his head.
“She probably sensed something was wrong.”
“She used the word drag,” I said.
“People do not ask to be left out of a story they know nothing about.”
Rowan gathered the folder’s contents and handed them to my lawyer.
Before leaving, he paused beside me.
“I owe you an apology,” he said quietly.
“You owed me more than a vague warning.”
“Yes.”
There was no excuse in his voice.
“At the cocktail hour, I had access irregularities and suspicions.
I did not yet have the photographs.
I was afraid of accusing Axton publicly without enough evidence, and I told myself that warning you indirectly was responsible.” He looked toward the folder.
“It was cowardly.”
I appreciated that he did not ask me to forgive him.
Axton called after him.
“You think this gets you the company?”
Rowan stopped at the door.
“This is not about getting the company.
It is about what you did while representing it.”
Then he left.
The meeting ended without an agreement.
Outside the hotel, my lawyer and I stood beneath the stone facade where the name VALE stretched above the entrance in silver letters.
Three weeks earlier, that name had represented permanence.
Now it felt like something attached to me without permission.
“The records are strong,” my lawyer said, “but they establish opportunity, not necessarily the full relationship.
We need direct evidence of intent, especially if we challenge the prenuptial terms.”
The agreement had been drafted by Axton’s family.
I had signed it after independent review, believing it protected both of us.
One section addressed deliberate misconduct that exposed either spouse or the family company to reputational and financial harm.
Axton’s lawyers had probably imagined the clause would restrain me.
They had not imagined it might restrain him.
That evening, Mila called.
I let it ring twice before answering.
“Callie,” she said breathlessly.
“We need to talk before Axton’s family turns this into something disgusting.”
Not before I turned it into something disgusting.
Before his family did.
I agreed to meet her the next afternoon at our parents’ apartment.
Before going, I spoke to my lawyer.
She advised me on preserving the conversation lawfully and told me not to threaten, provoke, or make promises.
“Let her speak,” she said.
“People who have rehearsed lies often reveal the truth when silence makes them uncomfortable.”
Mila was already waiting when I arrived.
Our parents had gone out at her request.
She sat at the kitchen table wearing the red coat from the photograph.
The sight of it almost stopped me in the doorway.
Mila followed my eyes and quickly removed it.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” she began.
I placed my phone face down on the table and sat opposite her.
“How long?”
Her mouth tightened.
