Chapter 5 David
Iwoke up with my face pressed against high-thread-count sheets that still somehow smelled wrong.
Four days. It was hard to believe, but four days had passed since Emma kicked me out, and I was still here at the Ritz downtown because I couldn't bring myself to find an actual apartment. Because this was temporary. Because Emma would calm down, we'd talk, and I'd fix this.
I always fixed things.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I grabbed it, hoping it was Emma, but knowing it wasn't.
Sarah: Can I come by? We need to talk.
Relief flooded through me. Finally. I'd been texting her constantly since that night.
Are you okay?
Can we meet?
I need to see you.
And Sarah… Sarah had been distant. Short responses.
Busy with work. Talk soon.
I'd told myself it was just the stress of the case, of keeping things quiet, of everything falling apart so publicly.
But now she was coming. Now we could figure this out together.
I texted her back:
Yes. Please. Room 237.
I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. The mirror showed exactly what I expected: stubble I hadn't bothered to shave, bloodshot eyes, hair that looked like I'd been running my hands through it all night. Which I probably had.
I splashed cold water on my face, brushed my teeth, tried to make myself presentable. Sarah had seen me worse. She'd seen me at my best and my worst, all through law school, and she'd never judged me.
That's what I loved about her. She got me. Really got me.
I pulled on jeans and a clean t-shirt, ran my fingers through my hair one more time. My heart was beating faster than it should have been. Nervous energy, maybe. Or just relief that I was finally going to see her, talk to her, feel less alone in this mess.
The next twenty minutes crawled by. I paced the room. Checked my phone. Looked out the window at the city below. Checked my phone again.
When the knock finally came, I practically lunged for the door.
Sarah stood in the hallway, and for a second, all I could do was look at her.
She was dressed down in jeans, a cream-colored sweater, and her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. No makeup except maybe a touch of mascara. She looked younger like this, more like the Sarah I'd known in law school, before the power suits and the polished veneer of corporate law.
Beautiful. She was so fucking beautiful.
"Hey," I said, and my voice came out rougher than I intended. I reached for her, my hand going to her waist the way it always did, ready to pull her close, to kiss her, to feel something good for the first time in four days.
She stepped past me into the room.
Not pulling away, exactly. Just... moving. Creating space between us before I could close it.
I stood there for a second, hand still outstretched, feeling stupid. Then I closed the door and turned to face her.
She was standing in the middle of the room, arms at her sides, looking around like she was cataloging everything. The unmade bed. The empty whiskey bottles on the desk. My suitcase in the corner, still half-unpacked.
"I'm so glad you're here," I said, moving toward her. "I've been going crazy. Emma won't answer my calls, and I just… I needed to see you. I needed—"
"David." Her voice cut through mine. Flat. Professional. "We need to talk."
I stopped moving.
Something in her tone made my stomach drop. I knew that voice. I'd heard it in mock trials, in negotiations, when she was about to deliver bad news to a client.
"Okay," I said slowly. "What's going on?"
She crossed her arms. "My father is asking questions."
My blood went cold.
Her father. Richard Oakley. Managing partner at Oakley & Barnes.
The man who'd built his firm on a reputation for conservative values and pristine ethics.
The man who'd given a speech at our law school graduation about integrity being the cornerstone of the profession.
The man who would absolutely lose his shit if he found out his daughter had been sleeping with a married co-counsel on the biggest case either of our firms had handled in years.
Sarah had always been careful about that.
Paranoid, even. We never went to the same restaurants twice.
Never met anywhere near her office. She'd remind me to delete my messages each and every time.
She'd made me promise—no, made me swear—that no one could ever find out, because if her father knew, it would destroy everything she'd worked for.
"What kind of questions?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She looked at me, and for the first time since she'd walked in, I saw something in her expression. Not affection. Not concern.
Fear.
"Someone saw us," she said. "At the Fairmont. Three weeks ago."
My mind raced. The Fairmont. Three weeks ago. That was the night we'd celebrated crushing the Richardson deposition. We'd been careful, hadn’t we? Separate cars, fake names... But we'd had a drink at the bar first. And then...
"Okay," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. Lawyer mode. Problem-solving mode. Yes, that’s what I needed. "Okay, so someone saw us having a drink. That doesn't mean anything. We're co-counsel, Sarah. We're supposed to be working together. Having a drink after a long day is completely—"
"They saw us in the elevator, David." Her voice was ice. "Kissing."
Fuck.
"Who?" I asked. "Who saw us?"
"Does it matter?" She shook her head. "Someone from my firm. They told someone else. That person mentioned it to my father. He called me into his office yesterday and asked if there was anything 'inappropriate' happening with the Henderson case."
The way she said 'inappropriate'—like it was toxic, like it burned coming out of her mouth—made something twist in my chest.
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him no." She met my eyes. "I lied to my father's face and told him there was nothing going on. That you were married and I was focused on my career. That whoever saw us was mistaken."
"Okay. Good. That’s… good.”
"It's not good, David." Her voice cracked, just slightly. "He didn't believe me. Or he half-believed me, which is almost worse. And now he’s watching me. Watching us. Waiting to see if there's any truth to it."
I took a step toward her. "So we lay low. We wait for it to blow over. People gossip, but if there's no evidence…”
"There's evidence." She said it quietly. "Your wife filed for divorce."
The room tilted.
"What?"
"I have a friend at the courthouse. She saw the filing yesterday morning.
Cited irreconcilable differences, but everyone knows what that means when it happens this fast." Sarah's voice was completely flat now.
Clinical. "It's going to be public record.
And when people at my firm start digging, and they will dig, they're going to connect the dots.
Married co-counsel suddenly getting divorced right when rumors start about an affair? It's not exactly subtle."
"Emma wouldn't—" I started, then stopped.
Of course Emma would. I'd seen her face that night. The way she'd looked at me when she told me to get out. She'd meant it. Every word.
And now she was making it official.
"So what do we do?" I asked. My voice sounded strange. Distant. "We can handle this. We just need to—"
"There is no 'we,' David." Sarah cut me off. "That's what I came here to tell you."
I stared at her.
"My firm is pulling out of the Henderson case," she continued, and her voice was steady now. Like she'd practiced this. "My father made the decision this morning. We're going to cite a conflict of interest, recommend another firm to partner with you. It'll be handled quietly, professionally."
"Sarah—"
"And I can't see you anymore." She said it fast, like ripping off a bandage. "This… whatever this was… it's over. It has to be over."
"Wait." I moved toward her. "Wait, just… let's think about this. Your father doesn't have proof. The divorce doesn't prove anything. We can still—"
"I don't want to." The words stopped me cold. "I don't want to risk my career, my reputation, or my relationship with my father. Not for this. I'm sorry, David, but I don't."
Something in my chest felt like it was caving in.
"You said you loved me." The words came out before I could stop them. Pathetic. Desperate.
Sarah's expression didn't change. "I said a lot of things."
She picked up her purse from where she'd set it on the desk. Ready to leave. Like this was just another meeting. Another business transaction concluded.
"That's it?" My voice cracked. "Five months, Sarah. Five months of—"
"Of what?" She turned to face me. "An affair, David. That's what it was. An affair. I never promised you anything more than that."
"You said we were good together. You said—"
"We were good together. In hotel rooms. In those dead hours between depositions." Her voice was sharp now. "But I never said I was going to blow up my life for you. You're the one who was married. You're the one who made promises to someone else and broke them. I didn't owe you anything."
The words hit like a slap.
"So that's how you're going to frame this?" I asked. "I'm the bad guy and you're just... what? An innocent bystander?"
"I'm the one protecting my career." She slung her purse over her shoulder. "Which is what you should be worried about too, by the way."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means my father is pulling our firm from the case, David.
The Henderson case. The biggest case either of our firms has handled in a decade.
" She paused. "Your partners are going to want to know why. And when they start asking questions, when they start putting pieces together…” She shook her head, frustrated.
“Just think about it… Affair with co-counsel, sudden divorce, our firm backing out… They're going to figure it out."
My stomach dropped.
She was right. Of course she was right.
Henderson was worth millions in billable hours. Partnership-making, career-defining work. And Sarah's firm was walking away because of me. Because of us.
My firm would know. They'd figure it out. They'd know it was my fault.
And they sure as hell wouldn’t be happy about it.
"Sarah, please—"
"I'm sorry," she said, and for the first time, she sounded like she might actually mean it. "I really am. But I have to go."
She walked to the door. I stood there, frozen, watching her leave.
Her hand was on the doorknob when I finally found my voice.
"Did you ever actually love me?"
She stopped. Didn't turn around.
"Does it matter?"
Then she was gone.