Chapter 20
Snow
The parking garage beneath Patricia’s office building is dim and quiet, the air heavy with exhaust and concrete. I pull into a spot and sit for a moment, my hands still gripping the steering wheel, trying to summon the energy to face this meeting.
Patricia called this morning to go over Preston’s revised settlement offer. She wouldn’t tell me the details over the phone, just said we needed to meet. The tone in her voice told me everything I needed to know: it’s not good.
The past week has been a self-imposed hell.
A gray, featureless landscape of time, measured out in tears and the patient, unwavering presence of Nico.
She’s been my rock, my anchor, letting me cry, letting me rage, letting me be silent.
I’ve been living in a fog of heartbreak and humiliation, replaying the images of Wyatt and Jade over and over in my mind until they’re burned onto the back of my eyelids.
I grab my purse and step out of the car. I’m already thinking about how to hold myself together through this meeting when I hear it — the low hum of an engine behind me. A sleek, black Mercedes glides up, blocking me in, its headlights pinning me like a startled animal.
Preston gets out, looking impeccable in a tailored navy suit. He moves with a languid, predatory grace, his expression a carefully constructed mask of condescending pity.
A flicker of fear shoots through me. My palms get slick with sweat. My heart starts a frantic, panicked rhythm against my ribs.
Of course, he knew I was here. Patricia’s office address is on all the divorce paperwork. He probably had his driver wait in the garage, watching for my car. It’s exactly the kind of controlling move he’d make.
“Snow,” he says, his voice a smooth, condescending purr. “I was hoping I’d catch you before your meeting. Have you seen my revised offer yet? I think you’ll find it’s more than generous, under the circumstances.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my voice coming out thinner than I’d like.
He laughs, a short, ugly sound that holds no humor.
“Don’t play coy. Your shark of a lawyer has the documents.
I’m giving you a chance to be reasonable before you waste both our time.
You won’t get a better deal in court. You’re a mess right now.
I’ve heard all about it.” He takes a step closer, invading my personal space, forcing me to tilt my head back to look at him.
“See? This is what happens when you try to play in the real world. You get hurt. You should have stayed where you belonged, under my protection.”
His words are meant to wound, to remind me of my supposed fragility. But something about the calculated cruelty of ambushing me here starts to burn through the fog.
Then he unsheathes his final weapon.
“Oh yes, I know all about your little fling with the romance novel cover boy, Wyatt Ford,” he says, his voice dripping with false sympathy.
“How’s that working out for you? Hard to miss when it’s all over the gossip sites.
All men are alike, Snow. We all lie. The only difference is, my lies came with a mansion and a black Amex.
His come with a pretty face and a six-pack. ”
His words are meant to shatter me, to equate Wyatt’s betrayal with his own calculated, long-term cruelty. But hearing Wyatt’s name from Preston’s lips, hearing him twist my genuine, hopeful feelings into something cheap and sordid, clarifies everything.
The fog of my sadness begins to burn away, replaced by a white-hot, righteous fury. He’s trying to use my pain as a negotiating tactic.
I stand my ground. I don’t shrink. I don’t cry. I look him directly in the eye, my own gaze as cold and hard as his. “You know nothing about him,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.
He misreads my strength as simple defiance, and it infuriates him.
“Oh, I know enough,” he sneers, his lip curling with contempt.
“I know he couldn’t wait to get back to his co-stars.
I saw the pictures. Everyone saw the pictures.
Even your pretty-boy model prefers the fantasy to you.
It must be so humiliating. You’re so desperate for love, you’ll believe anything.
That’s why my offer is so generous — I’m doing you a favor.
Take the money and disappear before you embarrass yourself any further. ”
The words hang in the damp, heavy air of the garage. I see it with perfect, crystalline clarity. See him with perfect, crystalline clarity. He saw the gossip articles and thought, “Perfect. Now she’s vulnerable. Now I can lowball her and she’ll take it.”
He’s been watching me hurt, and instead of any shred of human decency, his first thought was: How can I exploit this?
The sheer, breathtaking cynicism of it is almost comical. After six years of marriage, he knows so little about who I actually am. He thinks heartbreak makes me weak. He doesn’t understand that every wound he inflicted taught me to be stronger.
A slow, genuine smile spreads across my face.
Preston sees the smile, and it unnerves him. It’s not a reaction he’s ever seen from me before. “What’s so funny?” he demands, his voice losing its confident, condescending edge.
“You,” I say simply. “You’re what’s funny. You’ve been playing checkers this whole time, Preston. And I’ve been playing chess.” I don’t explain. I don’t give him the satisfaction of understanding. I just turn, walk around his ridiculously expensive car, and head toward the elevator.
When I walk into Patricia’s office, she takes one look at my face and stands immediately. “What happened?”
“Preston ambushed me in the parking garage,” I say, my voice steady and clear. “Tried to intimidate me into accepting whatever insulting offer he sent you. Told me I should take his ‘generous’ deal and disappear before I embarrass myself further.”
Patricia’s expression goes ice cold. “He did what?”
“I want it documented.” I set my purse down and meet her eyes. “Harassment. Intimidation. I want it on record.”
She’s already reaching for her legal pad, her pen flying across the page. “Absolutely. We can use this.” She looks up at me. “Are you alright?”
“I’m perfect,” I say, and I mean it. “Now show me this insulting offer he’s so proud of.”
She slides the document across the table. I scan the terms. It’s a pittance, a fraction of what I’m legally entitled to. It’s designed to make me feel small, worthless, desperate.
Instead, it makes me furious. “Reject it,” I say, sliding it back. “No counteroffer. Nothing. I want to go to trial.”
Patricia’s smile is sharp and predatory. “Are you sure? Discovery, depositions — it could get ugly.”
I think about Preston trying to use my heartbreak over Wyatt as a weapon. “Let it get ugly,” I say. “I’m done protecting him from the consequences of his own actions. We expose everything. All of it becomes public record.”
Patricia nods, satisfied. “I’ll file our response by the end of the day, including the harassment complaint from this morning’s incident.” She meets my eyes. “You’ve made the right choice.”
“I know,” I say. And for the first time in a week, I feel the fog lifting. Preston wanted me broken. Instead, he just reminded me why I’m fighting.
The war isn’t just beginning. I’m already winning.