Chapter 1

My divorce battle with Lawson had been dragging on for six months.

We'd gone from the couple everyone envied to the couple everyone pitied.

Thirty minutes before the third hearing, Lawson asked to meet me.

He pressed his fingers against his temples, exhaustion written all over his face.

"It's time to end this circus. Mia can't wait any longer."

"Name your price. I'll pay it."

Before I could say a word, his phone screamed to life.

He picked up, and a soft smile spread across his face — the kind he didn't even notice he was making.

"Don't worry about it. I'll just give her a little more money."

"I'll be done soon. Be a good girl and wait for me at home."

I stared at that face — familiar and foreign all at once — and felt something inside me finally let go.

"Forget it."

"Lawson, you don't have to keep fighting this. I'll agree to the divorce."

The divorce war that had dragged on for six months ended with me walking away.

For a moment, everyone was stunned.

After all, Lawson and I had been married for seven years. A divorce case that had been crawling along for half a year — most people just assumed we were two people too stubborn to admit they still cared.

The media ran wild. Lawson's official response was perfectly polished:

"I apologize for taking up public attention. Eve and I have finalized our divorce, but we remain friends. I wish her nothing but happiness."

My eyes lingered on the word "friends" for a long time.

I let out a quiet laugh.

Lawson and I had torn each other apart more than once over Mia. We were long past friendship — we couldn't even hold onto the last scraps of dignity.

But today, Lawson was being nicer to me than he'd been in all six months of this.

After I gave him my answer, he sat on the couch for a while, slowly packing away the negotiation materials he'd prepared.

"If that's the case, I'll get the divorce agreement to you as soon as possible."

"As for the company — I'll leave you twenty percent of the shares as compensation."

"There's also a property downtown. That's yours too."

He finished, thought for a moment to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

Then he stood up.

Maybe even he thought this had wrapped up suspiciously fast.

At the door, he turned his head back.

"Take care of yourself. Going forward."

I closed my eyes and said nothing.

My attorney sent over the divorce agreement and all the documents.

After the files came through, he added a note:

"The reason cited for the divorce is irreconcilable differences — a mutual, amicable separation. Under the relevant statutes, aside from what he's voluntarily gifting you, the remaining assets will be split equally."

Irreconcilable differences.

Such a clean way to dress up the word "cheating."

I'd still underestimated just how good Lawson was at keeping up appearances.

My phone buzzed. Lawson had sent a photo and a voice message.

The photo showed my desk at the office. Everything on it had been swept to the floor.

But the voice in the message belonged to a woman.

"Eve, I heard you're leaving. Let me help you clean up all this junk."

Mia.

Her voice had that soft, lilting quality — the kind that curled up at the end of every sentence.

No wonder people liked her.

I held down the voice message, then replied calmly:

"I may be leaving, but I'm still the largest shareholder of this company."

"If I wanted to, I could have you and all this junk packed up and thrown out together."

She didn't respond for a long time.

When the next message came through, it was Lawson's voice — with Mia's quiet sobbing faintly in the background.

"Eve, Mia didn't mean anything by it. Don't be like this."

I didn't bother replying. I gathered my things, stood up, and walked out of the courthouse.

On my way to the car, Lawson sent two more messages.

He'd put a picture frame back on the desk.

"The rest of it can go — it's all old anyway. But keep this one."

That frame held a landscape photo of the Arctic.

Back in the year we started the company, he'd printed it out and made me a promise:

"Once we make it through this, I'll take you to the Arctic. We'll take a photo just like this one."

Seven years later, Lawson had gone from a nobody to the CEO of one of New York's most talked-about publicly traded companies.

Money, power — all of it within reach.

But that little trip to the Arctic? He never brought it up again.

Lawson was right.

Old things should be thrown away.

I didn't reply. Instead, I tapped on his profile and pressed delete.