Chapter 6
I barely slept.
By six in the morning, I was already on the phone with Elaine Wu.
"He can't get an annulment without grounds," she told me, her voice crisp and efficient. "Fraud, incapacity, duress—he'd have to prove one of those. And given that the marriage has been active for six years with a child produced during it, any judge would laugh him out of chambers."
"Victor doesn't go to regular judges," I said.
A pause. "You think he'll try to buy the ruling?"
"I think he's already tried."
Another pause, longer. "Then we need to file first. Today. Before his paperwork hits the docket."
"File what?"
"Divorce. On your terms. Citing concealment of marital status to third parties, emotional abandonment, and failure to provide for your minor child. We attach the hospital records, the financial transfers, and a request for full custody plus a significant settlement."
My hand was shaking around the phone. "How fast can you have it ready?"
"Give me three hours."
While Elaine worked, I did something I should have done in my first life—I took Lily to get tested.
The pediatric genetics department at St. Catherine's Hospital had an opening at eight. I filled out forms, answered questions, watched my daughter giggle at the nurse who put a cartoon bandage on her arm after the blood draw.
"Results in seventy-two hours," the doctor told me.
I nodded. Seventy-two hours. In my last life, I didn't get Lily tested until she was already collapsing. By then, her immune system had been silently destroying itself for months.
Not this time.
We left the hospital, and I bought Lily a chocolate croissant from the bakery on the corner. She sat on a bench, swinging her legs, crumbs on her cheeks, completely unaware of the war being waged over her existence.
"Mommy," she said, "when is Daddy coming home?"
The question gutted me every time.
"Soon, baby," I lied. Then, quieter: "But you know what? No matter what happens, Mommy will always, always be here."
She smiled, satisfied with that, and went back to her croissant.
At noon, Elaine called. "Filed. Divorce petition is on the docket. I also filed an emergency motion to freeze Victor's ability to liquidate shared assets or modify estate documents until the proceedings conclude."
"And his annulment?"
"Already blocked. My motion got in first. His attorney will find out within the hour."
For the first time in what felt like forever, I laughed. It came out cracked and strange, but real.
Twenty minutes later, my phone exploded.
Victor: *What the hell did you do?*
Victor: *You filed for DIVORCE?*
Victor: *Call me. NOW.*
I didn't respond.
Then Natasha: *Are you insane?? You're going to ruin ALL of us. Call me.*
I didn't respond to her either.
Then, at four in the afternoon, a message from a number I didn't recognize:
*Ms. Ward. I suggest you reconsider your actions. You have no idea what you're risking. We can meet to discuss a private resolution. —Victor's personal attorney, Charles Whitmore.*
Elaine had warned me this would happen. "Don't respond. Don't engage. Everything goes through me."
I forwarded the message to Elaine without a word.
That evening, I put Lily to bed, checked the locks twice, and sat in the dark living room with my hands in my lap.
Victor wouldn't just use lawyers. I knew that. He was a man who controlled everything around him—people, information, narratives. And right now, his narrative was collapsing.
A cornered man with that much power was the most dangerous kind.
At eleven p.m., my phone lit up one final time.
It was from Julian Cross.
*The financial records checked out. There are irregularities that go deeper than either of us expected. Can you come in tomorrow? Bring everything you have.*
I typed back: *I'll be there at nine.*
Then I stared at the ceiling in the dark and thought about my daughter sleeping one room away.
In my last life, I had been too trusting, too passive, too scared. I had waited for Victor to do the right thing, and my child had paid the price.
This time, I would burn his empire down before I let him touch her.
Tomorrow, the real fight began.
By six in the morning, I was already on the phone with Elaine Wu.
"He can't get an annulment without grounds," she told me, her voice crisp and efficient. "Fraud, incapacity, duress—he'd have to prove one of those. And given that the marriage has been active for six years with a child produced during it, any judge would laugh him out of chambers."
"Victor doesn't go to regular judges," I said.
A pause. "You think he'll try to buy the ruling?"
"I think he's already tried."
Another pause, longer. "Then we need to file first. Today. Before his paperwork hits the docket."
"File what?"
"Divorce. On your terms. Citing concealment of marital status to third parties, emotional abandonment, and failure to provide for your minor child. We attach the hospital records, the financial transfers, and a request for full custody plus a significant settlement."
My hand was shaking around the phone. "How fast can you have it ready?"
"Give me three hours."
While Elaine worked, I did something I should have done in my first life—I took Lily to get tested.
The pediatric genetics department at St. Catherine's Hospital had an opening at eight. I filled out forms, answered questions, watched my daughter giggle at the nurse who put a cartoon bandage on her arm after the blood draw.
"Results in seventy-two hours," the doctor told me.
I nodded. Seventy-two hours. In my last life, I didn't get Lily tested until she was already collapsing. By then, her immune system had been silently destroying itself for months.
Not this time.
We left the hospital, and I bought Lily a chocolate croissant from the bakery on the corner. She sat on a bench, swinging her legs, crumbs on her cheeks, completely unaware of the war being waged over her existence.
"Mommy," she said, "when is Daddy coming home?"
The question gutted me every time.
"Soon, baby," I lied. Then, quieter: "But you know what? No matter what happens, Mommy will always, always be here."
She smiled, satisfied with that, and went back to her croissant.
At noon, Elaine called. "Filed. Divorce petition is on the docket. I also filed an emergency motion to freeze Victor's ability to liquidate shared assets or modify estate documents until the proceedings conclude."
"And his annulment?"
"Already blocked. My motion got in first. His attorney will find out within the hour."
For the first time in what felt like forever, I laughed. It came out cracked and strange, but real.
Twenty minutes later, my phone exploded.
Victor: *What the hell did you do?*
Victor: *You filed for DIVORCE?*
Victor: *Call me. NOW.*
I didn't respond.
Then Natasha: *Are you insane?? You're going to ruin ALL of us. Call me.*
I didn't respond to her either.
Then, at four in the afternoon, a message from a number I didn't recognize:
*Ms. Ward. I suggest you reconsider your actions. You have no idea what you're risking. We can meet to discuss a private resolution. —Victor's personal attorney, Charles Whitmore.*
Elaine had warned me this would happen. "Don't respond. Don't engage. Everything goes through me."
I forwarded the message to Elaine without a word.
That evening, I put Lily to bed, checked the locks twice, and sat in the dark living room with my hands in my lap.
Victor wouldn't just use lawyers. I knew that. He was a man who controlled everything around him—people, information, narratives. And right now, his narrative was collapsing.
A cornered man with that much power was the most dangerous kind.
At eleven p.m., my phone lit up one final time.
It was from Julian Cross.
*The financial records checked out. There are irregularities that go deeper than either of us expected. Can you come in tomorrow? Bring everything you have.*
I typed back: *I'll be there at nine.*
Then I stared at the ceiling in the dark and thought about my daughter sleeping one room away.
In my last life, I had been too trusting, too passive, too scared. I had waited for Victor to do the right thing, and my child had paid the price.
This time, I would burn his empire down before I let him touch her.
Tomorrow, the real fight began.