All Chapters of Ex-husband Wanted an Open Marriage With My Sister: Chapter 121 - Chapter 127

“Aren’t you going to have any?” she asks, mid-chew on a tender rib, sweet-sour glaze spreading soft tang across her taste buds. “I already ate.” “Where?” “The Vietnamese pho shop directly across from the federal courthouse.” “When did you find time to stop there?” “While you were drafting your opening statement this afternoon.” His fingertip drifts to brush the half-finished closing argument draft spread across her desk, paper rustling faintly beneath his skin. His gaze scans the typed lines quickly, pausing for a full two seconds on the third paragraph — the section quoting Meridian’s internal May 2022 R&D progress report. “Is there an error in paragraph three?” she asks, setting her chopsticks down against the plastic takeout lid with a faint click. &ldq

Sunlit Legal was unrecognizable now. Six weeks prior, when Jenny first stepped foot in this building, half the fluorescent lights lining the corridors had burned out, and the remaining fixtures cast a sickly yellow glow that aged the wall paint a full decade beyond its actual years. A semi-retired receptionist manned the front desk, dozing off sharp at three o’clock every afternoon. The whiteboard in the conference room still bore case numbers scrawled by the previous managing partner three years earlier; the marks from his dry-erase marker had faded to pale, ghostly gray streaks. Today, every fluorescent tube down the hall had been replaced. The new lamps blazed with crisp cool white light, rendering the marble floor’s mineral veins so distinct you could count every individual crystalline streak. The front desk had a new attendant—Mia, twenty-five years old, a part-time receptionist pursuing her Master of Laws, who arrived promptl

“I was helping you carve those arguments and evidence chains into your own muscle memory.” Jenny set her mug down again, the ceramic base clicking against the wood. “How much of it have you retained?” Lucas pushed his chair back and stood, his knee joint letting out a sharp pop as he rose—a sound no twenty-something should make, yet six weeks of twelve-hour days hunched over his computer had left his joints protesting constant strain. He crossed to the small freestanding whiteboard tucked into the corner of her office; Jenny kept a condensed version of the Meridian timeline there, more granular than the one in the main conference room, with corresponding exhibit numbers annotated beside every milestone. He picked up a blue dry-erase marker from the tray beneath the board, the plastic cap clicking softly between his fingers. He drew a brand-new milestone marker at the far right end of the timeline, scribbling a l