All Chapters of Divorce Suits Me Better: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

(Nate’s POV)I drove home with Sabrina’s voice still ringing in my skull.Get her out of your house. Actually DO something.My hands were too tight on the steering wheel. I had two whiskeys in me from the restaurant, enough to loosen something that had been bolted shut for months but not enough to blame tomorrow.I wanted to blame tomorrow. I wanted to wake up and say I was drunk, I wasn’t thinking, it was the whiskey and the way she looked at me when she cried.But I wasn’t drunk. I was just done.The house was lit up when I pulled into the driveway. Every window on the ground floor was glowing and Alexis’s white Range Rover was parked at an angle across the second garage bay, taking up a quarter of the space.I sat in the car for a full minute. I turned off the engine and I listened to the tick of it cooling and I stared at my own front door.Your words mean nothing. Not one of them has ever meant anything.I got out.She was in the living room wearing cream silk pajama shorts, a ch

(Sabrina’s POV)“And what did you say?”He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he rubbed both palms against his thighs and stared at the path.“Nothing,” he said finally. “I didn’t say anything. She walked out and I sat on the couch and didn’t move for about an hour.”I looked at him for a long time.Three years ago I would have fallen against his chest before he finished the sentence.Three years ago I was a girl in a guest room with a view of the lake who told herself a cold marriage was close enough to a real one.I wasn’t her anymore. I ran a company. I had five brothers who would set this city on fire for me.I had a baby growing under my ribs that I’d hidden from the man next to me because the last time I trusted him, strangers had to put me back together.“You should have said something,” I said. “When she threatened me. You should have said something.”“I know.”“You always just let her walk out. You let her get the last word every single time, Nate.”“I know,” he said again, a

(Alexis’s POV)I had been to this gala four times.Four years in a row, the Atwood Legacy Ball, and every single year I had walked through the front entrance in heels that could kill a man and a dress that made sure he noticed.The photographers knew me. The check-in staff knew me. The bartenders knew my drink—champagne, never prosecco, never anything with a straw—and nobody, not once, had ever asked me to spell my name.I smoothed my dress in the back of the town car and checked my reflection in the compact.My floor-length, black dress featured a slip which showed just more than the appropriate amount of skin. The shoes I was wearing cost four thousand dollars and they were on Nate’s card and I didn’t care, because if tonight was the last night I used it, I was going to use it well.Mara was texting from the sidewalk. Paps everywhere. Whole family arrived twenty minutes ago. Lots of eyes on her.Of course there’s eyes on her. She probably had five brothers fussing over the hemline.

(Sabrina’s POV)My wrist was still throbbing.Four little half-moons, red and raised, right where Alexis’s nails had dug in.Adrian had checked my pulse, taken my blood pressure, and asked about cramping. I glared at him instead of answering. By the time he gave up, Charlie was back from the coat room in a borrowed security jacket that strained across the shoulders.“I’m fine,” I told him for the fourth time.“You keep saying that.” Charlie tugged his fresh cuff straight. “She grabbed you, Brina.”“And now she’s gone,” I drew a breath. “I’m fine!”Felix appeared with a sparkling water and pressed it into my hand. His face looked relaxed but his eyes were furious.“I leave for TEN minutes to charm the foundation chair and she gets past the door,” he muttered. “I’m firing everybody, starting with the clipboard girl.”“You can’t fire people who don’t work for you. Besides, I did invite her. I wasn’t expecting this though. I should’ve,” I said weakly.“Just relax, okay?”Eric had barely s

(Felix’s POV)Eric had me digitizing boxes.Thirty years of Atwood Capital archive boxes stacked in the storage vault beneath the Holdings building, each one sealed with packing tape that had turned yellow and brittle, each one labeled in our father’s handwriting or our grandfather’s.Eric wanted them scanned for a packet he was building—for what, he wouldn’t say, and when I asked he just gave me a look and kept his mouth shut.So I sat on the floor of the vault with a hand scanner and a laptop and Luna asleep on my jacket in the corner as I opened boxes.I opened the first box and resigned myself to an afternoon of profound boredom.Tax returns from 1998. Board minutes from 2003. A stack of correspondence between our father and a law firm in Zurich that was so boring I nearly used it as a pillow. A folder of canceled checks written to names I didn’t recognize.A framed photograph of our parents at a fundraiser—Mom in blue, Dad in black, both of them smiling—that I stared at for thirt