PART 1
The courtroom was suffocating, heavy with the scent of old documents, stale coffee, and the dampness of rain-soaked coats. Under the pale hum of the fluorescent lights, the tension in the air was so thick I could hear the erratic beating of my own heart.
I sat in absolute silence, my fingers laced together so tightly my knuckles turned white. On my left hand, the faint, ghostly indentation of my wedding ring was still visible. I had worn my best blouse that morning. It wasn’t expensive, nor was it new, but I had woken up before dawn to iron out every single crease.
Across the wooden divide, my ex-husband, Rowan Vance, radiated the untouchable aura of a monarch. His bespoke suit was impeccably tailored. His hair, flawless. His eyes held the supreme arrogance of a man who firmly believed that enough money could dictate any ending. Spread across his lawyer’s table was a fortress of documents: million-dollar bank statements, elite private school brochures, luxury health insurance policies. Everything was meticulously arranged to prove one cruel point: Rowan was the ultimate foundation, and I was a liability.
