Chapter 30
Snow
The courthouse steps feel like a gauntlet, but I'm not walking them alone.
Patricia strides beside me, her Hermès briefcase swinging with the confidence of a woman who has a nuclear arsenal of evidence at her disposal. Nico is on my other side, her presence a silent promise that no matter what happens in that courtroom, I have people who have my back.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Wyatt.
You've got this. I love you so damn much.
I smile despite my nerves. He offered to come in, to sit in the gallery as moral support, but I told him no. I don't want him in the same room as Preston. I don't want Preston's toxicity anywhere near the clean, honest thing Wyatt and I have built together.
"Ready?" Patricia asks as we reach the courtroom doors.
I take a deep breath. "More than ready."
Inside, the courtroom has that hushed quality of a place where lives change. Preston is already seated with his lawyer, Martin Cross — a silver-haired man who looks like he charges by the syllable. Preston's wearing Tom Ford, projecting power, but I can see the tension in his shoulders.
Good. Let him be nervous.
His parents sit in the front row. They don't acknowledge me. I don't care.
We take our seats, and Patricia arranges her files with the precision of a surgeon laying out her instruments. She catches my eye and gives me the smallest nod.
She's about to destroy him.
The judge, a no-nonsense woman named Judith Kensington, calls the court to order. She's known for being tough but fair, and I can already tell she has no patience for theatrics.
"We're here for the matter of Darlington versus Darlington," Judge Kensington says. "Divorce proceedings with dispute over asset division due to allegations of marital misconduct. Ms. Taylor, you may proceed."
Patricia stands, and I swear the temperature in the room drops five degrees.
"Your Honor, my client entered into marriage with Mr. Darlington in good faith. What she discovered was a pattern of infidelity, manipulation, and financial misconduct that violated not only their marriage vows but also the prenuptial agreement's infidelity clause."
Preston's lawyer starts to rise. "Your Honor—"
"I'm not finished," Patricia says coolly. "We have evidence that Mr. Darlington engaged in multiple affairs throughout the marriage, including during periods when he claimed to be reconciling with my client. We also have evidence of blackmail and attempted business sabotage."
Judge Kensington looks at Preston's lawyer. "Mr. Cross, I assume you have a response?"
Martin Cross stands, adjusting his tie. "Your Honor, my client disputes these characterizations. Mr. Darlington admits the marriage had difficulties, but my colleague's claims are exaggerated and—"
"Then let's look at the evidence," Judge Kensington says. "Ms. Taylor?"
With that, Patricia unleashes hell.
I try to focus on her presentation, but my mind keeps drifting. The courtroom feels surreal, like I'm watching this happen to someone else. Six years of my life, reduced to evidence exhibits and legal arguments.
Patricia's voice cuts through the fog. "The prenuptial agreement's infidelity clause is mutual, notarized, and legally binding. If Mr. Darlington cheated during the marriage, my client would receive a substantial financial settlement and retain all assets purchased in her name during the marriage."
Preston's jaw tightens. His lawyer whispers something to him, but Preston just shakes his head.
I hear fragments after that. "Multiple affairs... hotel receipts... flight records... all dated during the marriage."
My hands are shaking. I clasp them together in my lap.
"Ms. Krystal, a marketing consultant from Miami..."
I remember finding those texts. The sick feeling in my stomach.
"The Plaza Hotel... Ms. Ashleigh..."
The night I thought he was at a work dinner.
"'I need to handle my wife so we can be together more often.'"
I glance at Preston. His face has gone pale. Somehow, he still didn't know I had all of this.
Patricia's voice sharpens, pulling me back. "After my client filed for divorce, Mr. Darlington launched a charm offensive. Roses. Dinner reservations. A romantic trip to Paris."
I remember the dress he had delivered.
"My client ignored all these gestures," Patricia continues. "So what did Mr. Darlington do?"
The pause is deliberate. Devastating.
"He took Ms. Ashleigh to Paris instead. The same woman from The Plaza Hotel. It's all documented on her Instagram — shopping on the Champs-élysées, jewelry from Cartier. All while sending my client voicemails begging her to save their marriage."
Behind me, Preston's mother gasps.
Patricia continues. Something about the charity gala. Women in the bathroom. I was there. I heard them laughing about me.
My throat tightens.
"Business sabotage," Patricia says, and I force myself to focus. "Emails to my client's potential business contacts, warning them she was 'unstable.' Fake online reviews attempting to destroy her consulting firm's reputation."
Preston's lawyer stands. "Your Honor, there's no proof—"
"They came from his work email account," Patricia says, her voice sharp as a scalpel. "The same account that appears in correspondence with Ms. Ashleigh about their Paris trip."
I watch Preston's face. Red now. Cornered.
Patricia presents an affidavit from Marcus Merica. I hear snatches as she reads aloud — "blackmail material... forced resignation..."
When I'd found those text messages on Preston's phone about Merica, I'd felt sick. It confirmed what I'd suspected: Preston wasn't just a cheater. He was cruel. He collected people's secrets like weapons, always looking for leverage.
Preston's face goes white. He clearly thought Merica had slunk away in shame and silence. The realization that Merica not only survived but is willing to go on record against him — I can see it breaking something in Preston.
Judge Kensington's jaw tightens as Patricia finishes reading. I can tell she's not impressed.
More witnesses after that. The forensic accountant. People who saw Preston with his mistresses. Each piece of evidence is another nail in his coffin, but I'm barely hearing it anymore.
I'm just tired. Tired of reliving this. Tired of being the woman this happened to.
Finally, we're done.
Judge Kensington's ruling is swift and brutal.
"The prenuptial agreement's infidelity clause is valid and enforceable.
The divorce is granted. Ms. Holloway, as she now prefers to be called, will receive the full financial settlement stipulated in the infidelity clause and will retain all assets in her name.
Mr. Darlington will be responsible for all legal fees. "
She pauses, looking directly at Preston, and her expression hardens.
"Additionally, Mr. Darlington's attempts to hide assets during discovery and his documented business interference constitute serious contempt of this court.
I am imposing sanctions in the amount of one million dollars.
" She glances at Patricia. "Ms. Taylor has requested that these funds be donated directly to charity rather than awarded to her client.
I'm ordering the funds be split equally between a women's shelter and a foundation empowering disadvantaged youth.
Mr. Darlington has thirty days to provide proof of payment. "
Preston's face goes from red to purple.
"Furthermore, he is ordered to retract all defamatory communications regarding Ms. Holloway's business and cease all contact outside of legal counsel."
I feel... nothing. No triumph, no vindication. Just relief.
It's over.
In the hallway outside the courtroom, Nico pulls me into a fierce hug. "You did it," she whispers. "You're free."
I pull back, smiling through tears I didn't realize I was crying. "I'm free."
Patricia joins us, a rare smile on her usually stern face. "Well done, Snow. You handled yourself beautifully."
"Thank you," I say, my voice thick with emotion.
As we're standing there, I notice Nico's attention has drifted to a dark-haired man leaning against the far wall. He catches her eye and smiles.
"Friend of yours?" I ask.
"Something like that," she says, flustered in a way I've never seen.
The man approaches, nods to me. "Congratulations, Snow." His eyes return to Nico. "I'll see you around."
When he disappears into the crowd, Nico's blushing. "Don't ask. Today is about you."
I let it drop, but I'm filing it away for later.
Patricia excuses herself to handle paperwork, and Nico gives me one last fierce hug before heading off — though I suspect that involves a certain mysterious man.
And then it's just me, standing in the courthouse hallway. I push through the courthouse doors and step out into the bright afternoon sunlight — and there he is. Wyatt, leaning against the stone railing, his hands in his pockets, looking like he's been waiting for me his whole life.
The moment he sees me, he straightens, his eyes searching my face.
"It's done," I say, and my voice breaks a little. "It's over."
He closes the distance between us in three strides and pulls me into his arms. I bury my face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him.
"I'm so proud of you," he murmurs against my hair. "So damn proud."
I'm about to say something when I hear it.
Music.
I pull back from Wyatt, confused, and then I see them.
A woman in a sequined dress and a feather boa, someone with a ukulele, a small group of performers setting up on the courthouse steps. A small crowd is already gathering, phones out, sensing something entertaining is about to happen.
"Oh my God," Nico breathes, appearing at my elbow. "I swear I didn't arrange this."
The singer in the feather boa waves, grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Snow!" she calls out. "We heard there might be a special performance opportunity today!"
And then it clicks. The singing telegram group from Preston's office. They're here. I start laughing. I can't help it.
And then Preston emerges from the courthouse.
He's flanked by his lawyer and his parents, his face still red with humiliation.
The moment the singer sees Preston, her grin widens. The ukulele player launches into a jaunty tune, and the singer begins:
"Once there was a man who thought he had it all,
A wife, a fortune, standing proud and tall!
But he couldn't keep it in his pants, oh no,
Now he's lost it all!"
The crowd is laughing, and phones are recording.
"He cheated left and right, thought he'd never pay,
But karma came a-knocking in court today!
Prenup violated, assets all denied,
The judge saw through his lies, now there's nowhere to hide!"
The singer does a little spin, her voice rising with theatrical flair:
"So here's to the ex-wife who finally broke free,
No more lies, no more chains, she's wild and she's free!
And here's to the cheater who lost everything,
No more mistress trips or Cartier bling!"
Preston's face has gone from red to purple. He tries to push through the crowd, but people are blocking his way, laughing and clapping along.
The singer hits the final note with a triumphant flourish:
"The moral of the story, if you're keeping score:
Don't cheat on your wife, or you'll end up poor!"
The crowd erupts in applause and laughter. The singer takes a bow, then looks directly at Preston.
"Thanks for the material, honey!" she calls out cheerfully.
Preston finally manages to shove through the crowd and stumble down the courthouse steps, his parents hurrying after him.
I'm doubled over laughing, tears streaming down my face. Wyatt has his arm around me, and he's laughing too, his whole body shaking with it.
Nico is cackling with delight. "Best. Day. Ever," she announces.
The singer bounds over to me, still grinning. "Sorry we didn't get to finish last time! Had to make up for it."
"That was perfect," I manage to say through my laughter. "Absolutely perfect."
She winks. "Glad you enjoyed it. And hey, if you ever need us for a wedding or anything, Nico's got my contact details."
She saunters off, and I look up at Wyatt, my face aching from smiling.
"A wedding?" he asks softly, his eyes searching mine.
"Maybe someday," I say, my heart full.
He kisses me then, soft and sweet and full of promise, right there on the courthouse steps with the crowd still cheering and the afternoon sun warm on our faces.
The ghost of my past is finally, truly gone.
And my future is standing right here, holding me close.