Chapter 5 - The Final Signature

Amelia’s POV

The law office smelled like leather and old money, a scent that reminded me too much of Daniel's study. I sat across from Jonathan Reeves, Daniel's lawyer, watching him arrange papers on his mahogany desk with the precision of someone who'd done this a thousand times before. His suit probably cost more than my current month's rent, and the abstract art on his walls screamed success in a language I no longer spoke.

He slid papers across the polished surface, his manicured fingers leaving no prints on the expensive stationery. "Mrs. Sterling, these documents outline the settlement terms."

"Hart," I corrected quietly, my voice barely carrying across the desk. "Amelia Hart."

His smile was professionally sympathetic, the kind lawyers practiced in mirrors. "Of course. Ms. Hart. As you'll see, Mr. Sterling has been extremely generous."

I scanned the papers without really reading them, watching numbers jump out like accusations. Six figures for "inconvenience," the car in my name, alimony for three years, access to accounts I'd never touched. Blood money disguised as generosity, wrapped in legal terminology that made it sound reasonable.

"I'm recommending you negotiate for more," Reeves continued, leaning back in his leather chair with the confidence of someone who'd never worried about rent. "Given the length of the marriage and the significant disparity in assets, you're entitled to substantially more. I can recommend an excellent attorney who specializes in high-net-worth divorces."

"No." I set the papers down carefully, keeping my hands steady through sheer force of will. "I don't want to negotiate."

Reeves blinked twice, his professional composure slipping for just a moment. "I don't think you understand the amount of money we're discussing here. With a proper attorney, you could easily—"

"I said no." My voice came out firmer this time, surprising both of us. "I don't want his money."

"Ms. Hart." Reeves folded his hands on the desk, his expression shifting to something that might have been concern or condescension. "I understand you're emotional right now, but you need to think practically. You have no income, no assets in your name, no—"

"I know exactly what I have." I met his eyes without flinching, drawing on reserves of strength I didn't know I possessed. "And what I don't have is any desire to take things from someone who clearly thinks I don't deserve them."

The lawyer's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a crack in his professional facade. "This is a legal settlement, not a referendum on your worth."

But it felt exactly like that, didn't it? Every number on these pages was Daniel's way of quantifying what three years of marriage had been worth, what I had been worth, and no amount of zeros could make that feel like anything other than an insult.

I picked up the pen, my hand steadier than it had been with the divorce papers three days ago. I skipped through pages methodically, signing away claim after claim with deliberate strokes. The penthouse with its floor-to-ceiling windows, the car I'd barely driven, the accounts Daniel had opened in my name but never let me touch, the stocks he'd given me on birthdays I'd spent alone while he worked.

At the final page, I paused, my pen hovering over a line item I'd missed on the first read-through. "Beneficiary rights to Sterling Holdings shares, two percent stake, valued at four point two million dollars."

My handwriting was in the margin from years ago, younger and more hopeful. I'd signed them over to Daniel during our first anniversary, thinking it romantic at the time. Thinking we'd build an empire together, side by side, partners in every sense of the word.

"This section requires special consideration," Reeves said, noticing where my attention had landed. His voice carried a note of warning, professional obligation overriding whatever personal opinions he might have. "Those shares were technically gifted to you during the marriage. They're yours to keep or negotiate with, completely separate from the settlement."

"Does he know I still have these?" I looked up from the papers, studying Reeves's face for tells.

Reeves hesitated, choosing his words carefully in that way lawyers did when they were about to reveal something their client might not want revealed. "Mr. Sterling may not be aware of the specific paperwork details. The gift was made early in the marriage, and the documentation was filed separately from the prenuptial agreement."

I stared at the numbers, watching them blur slightly as my eyes lost focus. Four point two million dollars. Enough to start over properly, to breathe without gasping, to stop drowning in survival mode like I had after my father died and the world fell apart the first time. Enough to prove I hadn't married him for money, enough to make Harper stop worrying, enough to rebuild everything I'd lost.

I signed the waiver without reading the fine print, my signature flowing across the page with finality.

"Ms. Hart, please." Reeves actually looked alarmed now, sitting forward in his chair with genuine concern that seemed to transcend professional duty. "At least take a few days to consider this decision. You're entitled to these assets. There's no shame in accepting what's legally yours."

"I'm done." I stood, grabbing my purse from the floor beside my chair. It was a cheap canvas thing Harper had loaned me because my designer bags felt like wearing someone else's skin, like pretending to be a woman who no longer existed. "Is there anything else I need to sign?"

Reeves studied me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his features before he gathered the papers with movements that seemed almost reluctant. He shook his head slightly, more to himself than to me.

"Just a forwarding address for future correspondence and final documentation."

I recited the studio apartment address, watching him write it down in neat lawyer handwriting. The numbers and street name sounded foreign in my voice, like they belonged to someone else's life, someone else's fresh start in a building held together by paint and prayers.

"Very well." Reeves stood, extending his hand across the desk with professional courtesy. "I'll process these documents immediately. The divorce will be finalized within thirty days, pending standard review."

Thirty days until it was official, until three years of marriage became nothing more than a legal footnote in the life of Daniel Sterling. Thirty days until I was completely, irreversibly alone.