See You in Court Mr. Ex husband.

My name is Maya Collins, and I have exactly three rules I live by.

Rule number one: never let anyone see you cry at work. Rule number two: always be the most prepared person in the room and Rule number three: never, under any circumstances, think about Ethan Harrington.

I have broken rule number three more times than I can count.

But today, I'm only focused on rule number two.

I'm standing in front of my bathroom mirror at six in the morning, trying to even down the collar of my navy blue blazer. My natural hair is pulled back and tied into a low bun, I made sure it was tight and clean. No stray curls hanging. No softness. Not today. Today is the day I walk into Caldwell & Associates and officially take over the Mercer Tech case — the biggest case our firm has seen in three years. My boss, Patrick Caldwell, told me last night when we spoke over the phone that landing this one could make me a senior partner before I turn thirty-two.

I'm thirty-one by the way.

I look at myself in the mirror for a long moment.

"You worked for this," I tell my reflection. "Don't mess it up."

My phone buzzes on the sink. I turn and looked at the screen and It was Jade.

“You up? Call me when you're dressed. I have huge news.”

Jade Washington has been my best-friend since freshman year at NYU. She was my roommate in the dorms, the girl who let me cry into her pillow when I missed my mom, the same girl who dragged me to every house party even when I had three assignments due the following day . Now she runs her own small PR firm in Manhattan and still texts me like we're still nineteen years old.

I took up my phone and call her while I make my coffee.

"Tell me," I let out the moment she picks up.

" Wow! Good morning to you too," she says laughing.

"Jade."

"Okay, okay." She takes a breath.l that lasted a few seconds "I was at the Meridian Awards dinner last night. You know, the one for corporate innovation?"

"I know it." I didn’t hesitate to respond at once.

"Maya." I noticed her voice dropping a little. "Harrington Group was there. They picked up the award for Business Expansion of the Year."

I stop stirring my coffee.

"And?" I kept my voice even.

"And Ethan was there to accept it. I saw him. In the flesh. Grey suit. He looked—" she pauses. "He looked really good, Maya."

I don't say anything for a moment. I watch the steam rise from my mug. My palms suddenly feel cold and sweaty.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"Because I'm your best friend and I thought you should know. I didn't want you to see it somewhere and be caught off guard."

I took and deep breath in and out. "I haven't thought about Ethan Harrington in a long time," I say, and even I don't believe my words.

Jade makes a sound that tells me she doesn't believe it either, but she's too good a friend to say it out loud.

After we hang up, I sit at my kitchen counter with my coffee and let myself do the one thing I almost never allow. I let myself remember.

I was eighteen the first time I saw Ethan Harrington.

It was my first week of college. NYU orientation. I had arrived on campus with two suitcases, a backpack, and a scholarship that covered exactly my tuition and nothing else. My mom, Linda Collins, had driven me from our apartment in Newark in “old Betty” our old Honda Civic she often made a weird knocking sounds after every traffic light but we didn’t care , she was part of our little family. My mom cried as she dropped me off. I tried to be strong in front of her and told her I was fine. I stood on the sidewalk and watched her drive away, I felt warm tears as they ran down my face, just for about two minutes, I stood right there on the street with my suitcases on either side of me until I couldn’t see the back of old Betty again.

Then I picked myself up and walked inside.

I met Jade that same day. She was from Atlanta, funny, loud in the best way, and she had brought so many bags that we spent forty minutes rearranging our room just to fit everything. By the end of the first night, it felt like I had known her for years.

Ethan I met on a Thursday.

I was in the library. A quiet corner on the second floor where not many people came. I liked it there because it was away from the noise of the common areas, away from the groups of students who all seemed to already know each other, already have their people as they chuckled and talked not minding where they are. I was reading through my economics textbook, making notes in the margin, when someone sat down across the table from me without asking.

I looked up.

He was tall even when sitting down. Dark hair, a little messy like he hadn't paid it much attention. Sharp jaw. Eyes that were a warm brown, the kind that looked like they were always in the middle of figuring out something. He had a textbook under his arm and a coffee cup in one hand, and he looked at me like sitting across from a stranger was the most normal thing in the world.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked. After he had already sat down.

I stared at him. "You already sitting on it ."

"I know. I'm asking to be polite." He smiled.

I looked back at my book. "It's a free country."

He laughed at that. Not a big laugh. Just a quiet one, like something I'd said really amused him. He opened his own textbook and we sat in silence for almost an hour.

When he got up to leave, he said, "I'm Ethan."

"I know how introductions work," I said.

He smiled again. "And you are?"

I looked up at him. "Maya."

"Maya," he repeated, like he was trying to let it sink into his head . "I'll see you around, Maya."

I watched him walk away and told myself I didn't care.

I saw him in that same corner the next Thursday. And the one after that. By the fourth week, we were sharing notes. By the sixth, we were getting coffee after. By November, I had somehow fallen for a boy I barely understood — a boy who laughed easily and listened like I was the only person in the room, who didn't seem to notice or care that my shoes were worn down at the heel or that I worked two part-time jobs while he never seemed to work at all.

I didn't know then what his last name meant. I didn't know about Harrington Group, about the hotels and the real estate and the old money that went back two generations. I just knew Ethan. The one who saved me a seat and always remembered how I took my coffee.

I should have asked more questions.

I should have known that in stories like ours, the beginning is almost never the hardest part.

I finish my coffee, rinse the mug, and pick up my bag.

I have a case to win. I have a career to build. And somewhere on the other side of this city, Ethan Harrington is accepting awards in grey suits and looking, like he's doing just fine according to Jade.

Good for him.

I step out of my apartment into the crisp October morning and pull my coat tight. The subway is two blocks away. I walk fast, the way I always do.

At the bottom of the stairs, my phone buzzes again. I took it out from the pocket of my coat and checked , this time it's not Jade, it's Patrick.

Call me before you come in. There's been a development with the Mercer case. Big one.

I stop walking.