He looked small. The bespoke suit seemed three sizes too big for him now, the London wool bunching at his shoulders. The vintage Patek Philippe on his wrist looked like a shackle rather than a trophy. He was a man built on the illusion of power, and the illusion had just been shattered.
“I don’t have anything to add, Your Honor,” I said, my voice clear and resonant, echoing off the mahogany walls without a single tremor. “My mother has said everything I’ve been waiting to say for seven years.”
BAM.
The gavel came down, the sound final and absolute.
“Motion granted,” Henderson declared. “The prenuptial agreement is hereby stayed pending a hearing on its validity. Mr. Simmons, you are ordered to surrender your passport to the bailiff immediately. Garrison, I suggest you find a very good lawyer of your own. We are adjourned.”
The courtroom erupted into a flurry of motion. The junior associates moved in, placing tablets and documents in front of the court reporter, while Garrison began frantically whispering into Keith’s ear. Keith just sat there, staring at the empty seat I had occupied alone only an hour before.
Catherine Bennett didn’t wait for the chaos to settle. She snapped her briefcase shut—click, click—and turned to me. She didn’t offer a dramatic movie hug. She simply adjusted the lapel of my charcoal-gray dress, her ice-blue eyes softening by just a fraction of a degree.
