CHAPTER 5 The First Rule

The moment Damian’s car pulled away from the curb, I regretted getting inside it.

I kept my eyes on the window, watching the city blur past while my fingers tightened around the strap of my handbag.

I should have gone back to the motel.

Instead, I was sitting beside a man whose name had been whispered across my husband’s family dinner table for years.

A man I had never spoken to until today.

You’re awfully quiet. I glanced at Damian.

He was watching the road, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. Nothing.

His answer surprised me. I looked back outside.

For the first time since yesterday, nobody was asking me what happened. Nobody was telling me how sorry they were. Nobody was looking at me like I might break.

Damian simply drove. And somehow, that was worse.

Because silence left too much room for my thoughts.

Ryan’s face came back to me. His voice.

I want a divorce.

Four years of marriage reduced to four words.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass.

Where are you taking me? My house. I immediately straightened.

No. Damian glanced at me. You’d rather return to the motel?

Yes. Why? Because I don’t know you. A pause.

That’s fair. I wasn’t expecting him to agree.

He turned at the next intersection.

I watched the unfamiliar streets pass by.

Then take me somewhere public. I could.

But? But you won’t be safe there.

My brows pulled together. Why wouldn’t I be safe?

Damian didn’t answer.

That silence bothered me more than anything he could have said. Damian.

His fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

Your divorce wasn’t handled normally. I stared at him. What does that mean?

It means Ryan moved quickly. He wanted out. No.

The single word landed harder than it should have.

Damian finally looked at me.

He wanted you out. My stomach twisted. I didn’t understand.

Before I could ask, his phone vibrated in the console.

He glanced at the screen. Something changed in his face. Not fear. Something colder.

He picked up the phone and read the message without saying a word. What is it?

Nothing. Then why did you look like that?

He ignored the question. I reached for my own phone. Three missed calls.

All from the same number. Ryan. My heart gave one hard thud.

Then I noticed the time of the first call.

It had come twelve minutes after I left the café.

I looked at Damian.

How does he know I’m not at the motel?”

Damian said nothing. I felt the blood drain from my face. My phone vibrated again.

This time, it wasn’t Ryan calling. It was my bank.

Account access temporarily restricted. Please contact customer service.

I stared at the screen.

I had already known Ryan froze the joint accounts.

But this wasn’t a joint account. It was mine.

Completely mine. I lifted my eyes slowly.

Damian. He looked at me.

Why is Ryan touching an account that has nothing to do with him?

His expression went completely still.

And for the first time since I met him, Damian looked genuinely surprised.

I stare at the message until the words begin to blur.

That’s impossible. Damian doesn’t answer.

It’s my account,” I say again, louder this time. Ryan has no access to it.

“Apparently, someone does. My fingers go cold.

I open the banking app again, hoping I somehow misunderstood what I’m seeing.

The same warning appears. Access temporarily restricted. I try to transfer a small amount.

Declined. I try another account.

Declined. My throat tightens. Call them. I will.”

Damian reaches for his phone. No.” I stop him. “I’ll do it.”

I don’t know why I need to prove that I can still handle something on my own.

Maybe because everything else has been taken from me. I call the bank.

After several minutes of automated instructions, I’m finally connected to someone.

“I’m calling because my account has been restricted.”

The woman asks for my information. I provide everything. She goes quiet.

Then she asks, “Mrs. Knight, did you recently make any changes to your marital assets?”

My stomach drops. No. Are you sure?”

Yes. Another pause.

“There appears to be a legal restriction attached to the account.”

What legal restriction? I can’t disclose the details over the phone.”

My grip tightens around the phone.

Then who can?

You’ll need to speak with the legal department listed on the notice.

What notice? She hesitates. Then gives me an email address. I write it down with shaking fingers.

Before I can ask anything else, the call ends.

I lower the phone. Damian is watching me.

“What did they say? I tell him. His expression changes. Not dramatically. Just enough for me to notice. You knew this could happen.”

No. Don’t lie to me. I’m not. His voice is calm, but his eyes aren’t. He reaches for his phone again.

This time, I don’t stop him. Who are you calling?”

My attorney. Why?

“Because I want to know how Ryan managed to put a restriction on an account that belongs to you.”

The way he says belongs to you makes something click.

I sit straighter. Unless it doesn’t.

Damian’s eyes meet mine. What? My account.”

He doesn’t speak.

I remember the papers Ryan’s lawyer sent.

The divorce agreement.

The pages I barely looked at because I was too numb to understand what I was signing.

I suddenly feel sick. Damian. He waits.

What did I sign? His jaw tightens.

I don’t know yet. But you’re going to find out.”

Yes.

The car slows as we approach a set of enormous black gates.

They open before we reach them.

I stare through the windshield.

Beyond the gates sits a massive modern estate overlooking the city, all glass, stone and sharp architectural lines.

Damian’s home. I should be impressed. Instead, I feel trapped. He parks and turns off the engine.

Neither of us moves. Then his phone rings.

He looks at the screen. This time, he answers.

Speak.

I can’t hear the person on the other end. But I watch Damian’s face.

His expression becomes colder with every second.

Finally, he says, “Send me the document.

He hangs up. What happened? He looks at me.

“Your divorce papers weren’t just divorce papers, Eva. My heart stops. What do you mean?”

Damian reaches into the console and pulls out his phone.

He turns the screen toward me. A document fills it.

At the bottom is my signature.

And beneath it is a clause I don’t remember seeing.

Control of designated marital assets may be transferred upon execution of divorce proceedings.

I read it twice. Then a third time.

My voice comes out barely above a whisper.

Ryan didn’t just divorce me. Damian’s eyes stay on mine.

No. He pauses.

He made sure you’d have nothing left to fight him with.