#1 Burn It Down

Eilidh MacLeod POV

The door slammed behind me hard enough to rattle the frame, maybe even crack it. Good. Let the whole damn set know I was fucking done.

Six inch heels clicked on polished concrete, the slit in my red dress flashing bare thigh with every long stride. My auburn hair fanned out behind me like flames, my breasts bouncing with each step. My lips curled into a smile sharp enough to cut, even though my chest felt like it was caving in and my knees threatened to give way.

They'd never see me like that. Not them. Not him. Not ever.

I was Eilidh MacLeod. Not Ellie Mac, the sweet, watered down American version I'd been pretending to be. My real name tasted like fire on my tongue, and it was about time everyone remembered it.

I waved at a few crew members as I passed, their eyes widening like they'd just witnessed a live episode of their favorite drama. Paparazzi were probably already sniffing around. Let them.

Outside, the California heat hit me full in the face. I pulled my phone from my clutch and ordered an Uber, my pulse still pounding in my ears.

Behind me, I heard the door crash open. "Ellie...Ellie, wait!"

Cole's voice. My husband. My mistake. He jogged toward me, panic plastered across his perfect movie star face. "Babe, listen, I..."

I laughed. I didn't mean to. It just ripped out of me, brittle and wild. "Babe? Ye've not earned that in a long while."

His mouth opened like he was going to throw some bullshit apology at me. I tilted my head, all pretense of my soft American lilt gone, letting the full bite of my Scottish brogue roll out. "I wasted the best years o' my life on ye, Cole Harrington. I'm burnin' it all tae the fuckin' ground. Good luck pickin' up the pieces."

My Uber pulled up to the curb, sleek and black like it was chauffeuring me to my next life. He reached for my hand, desperation in his eyes. I turned and slapped him so hard the crack echoed down the street. Gasps went up from the growing crowd.

That was when she came out. Anya. Platinum blonde, surgically sculpted, wearing barely more than lingerie. She latched onto his arm like a dog with a bone. "He's mine now, slut. Time for you to piss off."

The paparazzi swarmed like sharks, cameras flashing. I threw my head back and laughed again, a sound that didn't match the ache in my chest, and slid into the Uber without looking back.

Five minutes later, my phone exploded with notifications. Photos. Videos. Headlines. The gossip machine was foaming at the mouth.

Incoming Call: Cat I answered. "Hey, love." Her voice was pure outrage. "Girl, WTF is happening? Did I just see you slap the shit outta your husband on every social media platform in existence?"

I sighed, leaning back in the seat. "Aye. Walked in on him balls deep in Anya's pussy in his dressin' room. They deserve each other."

"That fucking cunt!" she screeched. "Gods, Ellie, what the hell does he even see in her?"

"No clue," I said flatly. "Look, I'm at my lawyer's office, love. I'll call ye back."

I ended the call, handed the driver a tip, and stepped out into the sunshine. A few catcalls followed me up the steps, and I grinned. Being single might be fun after all. Inside, I walked straight to the reception desk. "Please let Mr. Hoffman know I'm here tae see him. Eilidh MacLeod. He'll want tae see me. Thank ye."

The secretary, a nasal-voiced woman with a tight bun that looked like it was choking her head... and an even tighter smile, looked me up and down. "He's busy. Do you have an appointment?"

"No," I said sweetly. "But I can just call him if yer goin' to make this difficult." Her nostrils flared. She picked up the phone and mangled my name.... definitely on purpose. "There's an... uh... Eel-eed here to see you."

Her face soured when she hung up. "Go on up. He'll see you now."

"Thanks, doll," I said with a smirk and winked at her. The elevator whisked me to the sixth floor. I stepped into Hoffman's massive corner office, glass walls spilling sunlight across the rich wood floors. He stood when he saw me, striding forward with open arms. "My girl! How are your parents? Your husband? How's things?"

I hugged him back, the faint scent of his expensive cologne grounding me. Pulling away, I smiled sweetly. "Hoff, I need tae file fer divorce." His brows shot up, mouth falling open. "Well. Okay then. Let's do this."

I grinned, the weight on my chest easing for the first time in years. "Time tae burn it all tae the fuckin' ground."

Hoffman chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if we're burning it to the ground, I'll make sure I vacation in the ocean."

A laugh slipped out of me, real, bright and unexpected. It felt good, even if my chest still ached like my heart was scooped out of me with a fucking spoon. Hoffman smiled, that uncle like warmth softening the sharp lines of his face.

"Alright, lass," he said, gesturing toward the seat across from him. "Tell me what happened."

I dropped into the chair, crossing one leg over the other so the slit in my dress slid higher. "He cheated," I said bluntly. "So per our prenup, he gets absolutely nothing o' mine. Nae a car, nae a penny, nar a fucking throw pillow."

"That's a start," Hoffman said, pulling out a thick folder and his laptop. "Let's make sure every single account and asset is locked down." We started with the credit cards. "Shut this one down... this one tae... oh, and this one." I rattled them off one by one, savoring the sound of the word canceled.

Next came the bank accounts. The shared one was nearly empty, almost too empty. My brows furrowed. "That's odd."

Hoffman leaned over my shoulder, scanning the transactions. "What the hell is this?" A line of charges from high end hotels. Escort services. Casinos. Private clubs I'd never set foot in. And not small amounts either, we were talking thousands.

The deeper we dug, the worse it got. "Are ye seein' this, Hoff?" I scrolled faster, my voice dripping venom. "Drugs. Hookers. Gambling. And look here, monthly rent payments tae an address I don't recognize."

Hoffman typed it into G****e, and up popped a familiar building. My apartment. The one Cole and I had lived in before moving into the house. "And guess who's listed on the lease now?" Hoffman asked grimly.

I didn't have to guess. "Anya." That single word was enough to make him swear under his breath.

We kept working. I transferred every remaining cent from the shared account into my private one, then flagged the luxury apartment and Malibu house for immediate listing. The prenup made it clean, everything was in my name, so there was no fight.

When the last form was signed, Hoffman tapped the stack of papers with a satisfied thump. "Alright, Eilidh. The only thing he gets is whatever's in his closet. Hell, I might even deliver this to the studio myself."