Chapter 6

At two o'clock in the afternoon, the Lynch family's lead attorney sat on the white leather sofa in the estate's living room. He placed a thick stack of legal documents on the glass coffee table.

"Mrs. Lynch," the lawyer said, pushing his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose. His tone was dripping with corporate condescension. "Due to your breach of the fidelity clause, you forfeit all alimony. You must vacate the premises immediately."

Clarine sat opposite him, her posture relaxed.

"Furthermore," the lawyer continued, tapping a specific page, "Mr. Lynch requires you to sign this Non-Disclosure Agreement. You will not speak to the press about his family. In exchange, he is generously offering a one-time severance of one million dollars."

He slid a sleek silver pen across the table. "Sign it. Don't fight a war you can't win."

Clarine picked up the pen. She didn't look at the check. She flipped to the NDA and the severance clause, pressed the pen down hard, and drew thick, black lines through the text, crossing it all out.

The lawyer's eyes bugged out. "What are you doing? If you refuse this, Mr. Lynch will drag your infidelity through the courts!"

Clarine smirked. She pulled out her phone and dialed Evert's number, putting it on speaker.

"Have you signed it?" Evert's cold voice echoed in the living room.

"I agree to leave with nothing," Clarine said, her voice steady and loud. "But I will not sign your insulting gag order."

Evert let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "You're rejecting a million dollars? You have no skills, Clarine. You will starve in the gutters without that money."

"I would rather starve than spend another second as your pathetic stand-in," Clarine fired back, her tone slicing like a scalpel.

The line went dead.

Thirty minutes later, the front doors burst open. Evert stormed into the living room, a hurricane of fury. He had driven halfway back to his office when her mocking tone over the phone finally registered, snapping his last thread of restraint. No one hung up on him. No one rejected his money like it was trash. He marched straight to the glass coffee table and snatched the altered documents.

He glared at Clarine. Her chin was held high, her eyes defiant. It infuriated him. He wanted her broken, not brave.

"Sign the original papers," Evert ordered, slamming his hand on the table with a force that rattled the glass.

"Try to keep me here," Clarine stepped right into his personal space, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "And tomorrow, the front page of the Times will feature the Lynch CEO for false imprisonment and domestic abuse."

Evert froze. He stared at her, genuinely stunned. The submissive, quiet woman he married was gone. She was baring her fangs.

"Evert?"

A soft, whiny voice broke the tension. Cherie walked into the living room, clutching a designer handbag. She took one look at the scene and immediately scurried behind Evert, grabbing his arm.

"Clarine, please don't make him angry," Cherie whimpered, batting her eyelashes. "Just take the money and go. Stop harassing my brother-in-law."

Clarine looked at the two of them. She felt nothing but pure, unadulterated exhaustion.

She picked up the pen, flipped to the final page of the clean divorce decree-the one that stated she left with zero assets-and signed her name in bold, sweeping strokes.

She picked up the paper and slapped it flat against Evert's chest. The sharp edge of the thick paper dragged against his custom Tom Ford suit lapel, leaving a faint, white crease.

"Tomorrow morning. Nine AM. Manhattan Courthouse," Clarine said, her voice ringing with finality. "Whoever doesn't show up is a coward."

She turned her back on him and walked toward the stairs to pack.

Evert stood frozen, holding the paper. He looked down at her signature. She really didn't ask for a single penny. A sudden, hollow panic bloomed in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Cherie rubbed his arm. "Evert, let her go, she's just-"

"Don't touch me," Evert snapped, violently jerking his arm away. He didn't look at Cherie. His eyes were glued to the empty staircase.