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The office smelled like leather and ambition.

Not the fake kind—the real kind. Worn books, fresh coffee, and that scent men wear when they’re too rich to buy cologne at a department store.

Eden stood in front of the glass doors for three full seconds before she walked in.

It was the waiting that used to break her. The hesitation. The “Is this the right thing to do?” echo that used to run laps through her chest. But now, the silence didn’t scare her. She wore it like a coat.

“Ms. Cross?” the assistant said, rising from behind a polished mahogany desk.

Eden didn’t correct her. Not yet. She let the name hang in the air like perfume—familiar, but soon to be replaced.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Ellis is ready for you.”

She followed the assistant down a hallway lined with framed degrees and marble tile. Every step of her heels felt like punctuation. Final. Sharp. Sure.

The lawyer, Daniel Ellis, looked like someone who hadn’t been surprised since 1998. His tie was straight, his beard trimmed, and his eyes didn’t linger too long.

That was a good sign.

“Mrs. Cross,” he said, standing.

“Ms.,” she replied, sliding the folder onto his desk as she sat. “At least for now.”

He nodded. “Understood.”

She let him open the folder—tabbed, highlighted, color-coded. Receipts. Account numbers. Emails. Voicemails. Screen grabs. It was all there. $72,568 worth of betrayal, documented and dated.

Ellis let out a slow whistle as he scanned the contents. “You did your homework.”

“No. I did his,” Eden replied, arms crossed. “For ten years.”

He looked up. Not with pity. With professional curiosity.

“You want to press charges?”

“No,” she said. “I want to file for divorce. I want to remove my name from the LLC he forged it into. I want to clear my involvement with the church’s financial accounts. And I want to make damn sure if he tries to pin this on me, I’m not the one in handcuffs.”

He tapped his pen against the table, impressed.

“You’re not here for revenge.”

She leaned forward, voice smooth as smoke. “I’m here for freedom. Let’s not confuse the two.”

Ellis smiled—just a little.

“You’ll need to sign an affidavit stating you weren’t aware of the account, and we’ll draft a cease-and-desist regarding use of your name in any financial activity. We’ll also initiate full divorce proceedings. Contested, I assume?”

Eden arched an eyebrow. “You assume correctly.”

As he typed, Eden let her gaze drift toward the window. Outside, the city buzzed. She wondered if Callum Calhoun was somewhere in it—maybe back at Black Velvet & Lace, maybe behind some corner office desk making power moves and sipping espresso without a care in the world.

The man had left an impression. Not just for how he looked—but for how he didn’t flinch. For how he didn’t try to fix her, or fill her silence, or say “You’ll find someone better.” He didn’t speak to the wife in her. He spoke to the woman.

And that… was dangerous.

“Ms. Cross?” Ellis said, pulling her back.

She blinked. “Sorry. Long month.”

He slid a paper across the desk. “Sign here.”

She looked down at the page. The legal terms blurred for a moment—Affidavit. Separation. Liability. But what stood out the most was her name.

Eden Marie Cross.

God, how many times had she signed things without reading?

Loan applications. Mortgage renewals. Car titles. Co-signed documents under the assumption of love and loyalty.

Trust had nearly cost her everything.

Not this time.

She picked up the pen. Her hand didn’t shake.

She signed.

And as the ink dried, Eden didn’t feel small. Or scared. Or sad.

She felt clean.