Chapter 185 Chapter 185 The Lawyer
The lawyer leads me into his office, and I immediately understand why Mitch called this place the best. The entire building screams money. Massive glass walls, sharp modern architecture, cool gray tones, polished marble floors that shine under soft lighting. Everything is sleek, expensive, intimidating. The kind of place designed to make people feel small the second they walk inside.
Keenan Carter fits the building perfectly.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair cut with precision. A custom charcoal suit tailored so sharply it looks painted onto him. Expensive cologne. Expensive watch. Expensive everything. Even his calm expression feels expensive.
He opens the office door for me and motions toward one of the leather chairs in front of his massive mahogany desk.
“Please.”
His office somehow feels colder than the rest of the building. Clean lines. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. A huge bookshelf packed with legal books, art books, and a few tasteful desk knickknacks. Nothing personal. No family photos. No signs of a life outside this room.
That should probably terrify me.
Instead, I feel numb.
“Mitch gave me the basics,” Carter says as he takes a seat across from me. “Your husband is cheating and you want to file for divorce.”
“Yes.”
The word leaves my mouth easily. Too easily.
“What are you hoping to get out of the divorce?”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Nothing.”
His eyebrows lift slightly.
“I just want him out of my life.”
There’s a long pause.
“Ivan Pavlov is a billionaire,” he says carefully. “You have no prenup. You share three children together and you want… nothing?”
“I have my own money.” I shrug. “The penthouse is mine. The villa is mine. I have a great job that pays way too much.” I smile faintly. “Don’t tell Mitch I said that.”
Carter’s mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh.
Then my expression falls serious again.
“And technically we only share two children. Mason Jones is the biological father of one of my daughters.”
That finally gets a real reaction from him.
His eyes narrow slightly as he studies me, probably trying to figure out what kind of marriage this actually is.
After Ivan and I got married, I had to send a copy of the marriage certificate to my grandmother’s lawyer. The man who controls her estate, the trust, all the money. I remember thinking the amount I inherited afterward was obscene. Life-changing money. Generational money.
“What if your husband comes after your assets?” Carter asks. “Or custody?”
“Everything I own is protected in a trust,” I answer calmly. “So that would be difficult.”
He leans back in his chair and laughs under his breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll need every piece of evidence you have regarding the cheating. Photos, messages, anything that establishes a pattern.”
I reach into my purse and slide the flash drive across the desk.
His hand covers it, but his eyes never leave mine.
“May I say something?”
“Sure.”
“You’re unusually calm.”
That almost makes me laugh again.
“I’ve been sitting on this for a year,” I admit quietly. “I think I’m just tired now.”
His entire expression shifts at that.
“A year?”
I nod once.
At first, the messages destroyed me.
Anonymous numbers. Photos. Videos. Hotel rooms. Women hanging off him at clubs. Lips on his neck. Hands on his chest. Some of the pictures blurry, some painfully clear.
The worst part is that every time he cheats, he comes home softer. Sweeter. Maybe guilt makes men affectionate. Or maybe Ivan has simply become better at lying.
“What custody arrangement are you seeking?” Carter asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“We can do fifty-fifty.”
He blinks at me.
“I mean that,” I continue. “I don’t want to keep the kids from him. He’s a good father.” My throat tightens painfully. “Honestly, I’m more afraid he’ll want less than fifty percent.”
Because that would break them.
Constantine worships him. Katia and Catori run to the door every night waiting for him when he travels. I cannot deny what he is to them.
A present father.
A loving father.
And somehow that makes this hurt worse.
“Understood,” Carter says, making notes. “We’ll proceed with filing. Given his travel schedule, we should be able to have him served within thirty days.”
Thirty more days of pretending.
“Can I pay the fees upfront?” I ask.
“Of course. Marisa at the front desk can help you with that.”
I stand, smoothing my skirt nervously.
“Thank you.”
“We’ll take care of you, Elena.” He grabs a card, writes something on the back, then hands it to me. “That’s my personal number. Call or text anytime if you have questions.”
I nod and tuck the card into my purse.
Walking back through the building, I expect to feel lighter.
I don’t.
The pressure in my chest starts dull, then sharpens into something unbearable. By the time I reach the parking garage, my vision is blurring.
The second I close the car door, I break.
Ugly, humiliating sobs rip out of me so violently my shoulders shake. Tears stream down my face while I grip the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me together.
I don’t even know what I’m mourning anymore.
My marriage?
The man I thought existed?
Or the fact that after all these years, I still fucking love him.
By the time I pull into the garage at home, I’ve forced myself back together.
I check my makeup in the mirror. No swollen eyes. No smeared mascara. I barely even look like I cried. Maybe I’m finally losing my mind.
The penthouse doors slide open and the girls come sprinting toward me immediately.
“Mama!”
The nanny hollers behind them. “Girls! Let her at least take her shoes off first!”
I laugh softly and crouch to catch them both in my arms.
Catori looks so much like Mason it still shocks me sometimes. Dark hair, olive skin, my blue eyes. Katia is pure Ivan—blonde hair, dark eyes, dimples—but with my temper blazing underneath.
Tiny innocent versions of people complicated enough to ruin each other.
“Daddy is home!” they cheer together.
Fantastic.
I barely have time to stand before Ivan appears.
“Dushichka.”
His velvety voice alone still does something terrible to me.
Ivan walks over, wraps his arms around my waist, and kisses the side of my face casually like we’re some perfectly happy couple.
Like he hasn’t spent the last year humiliating me.
I smile anyway.
I even kiss him back.
“Working late?” he asks.
“Yes. The Snaz deal.” I set my purse down. “I’ll probably have to travel to San Francisco soon to finalize the exhibit pieces.”
“When?”
“A few days.”
“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.
His hands slide lower, gripping my ass possessively.
Nothing.
I feel absolutely nothing.
No spark. No warmth. No butterflies.
Just exhaustion.
I wrap my arms around his neck anyway, fingers sliding through his soft hair out of habit more than affection.
Then Ivan kisses me.
Deep.
Slow.
Like a man starving.
Like a man in love.
And for one horrifying second, I almost forget every single photo sitting inside my lawyer’s office.