He hangs up.
That night, another video leaks.
Not from me.
Not from Ethan.
Someone at the gala recorded Nathan and Serena arguing near a service door. Serena says something about “Caroline’s house being the guarantee.” Nathan grabs her arm and tells her to lower her voice.
The clip is twelve seconds long.
By morning, Whitmore & Pierce removes Nathan’s name from the website.
That is the first time I cry.
Not because I miss him.
Because I remember the younger Nathan with cheap coffee and big dreams, telling me one day his name would be on the door of a firm that changed the country. I remember editing his essays, calming his fear, telling him he was brilliant when he was really just hungry.
He got his name on the door.
Then he poisoned it.
Grief is strange.
I can mourn someone who is still alive when the person I loved never truly existed.
Weeks pass.
The divorce becomes a battlefield, but not the one Nathan expected. He wants drama. I give documents. He wants private calls. I give legal notices. He wants chaos. I give timelines, statements, account numbers, expert reports.
The Oakridge house becomes the center.