Chapter 34
As I sit in the solicitor’s office, my hands are shaking. I shouldn’t be this nervous. I know what’s coming, and it all works out in my favor. I keep the flat. I still have my car. My savings are intact. I’m okay.
I’m okay.
But it doesn’t matter how many times I quietly repeat those words to myself. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m sitting in a freezing-cold office not even three feet from Tristan, whose unreadable expression stings to even look at.
I’m not sure why. How do I expect him to look at me? With affection? Longing?
Just the thought makes me cringe.
I hazard a glance at him from across the table. He’s frowning at a paper his lawyer has just put in front of him. His eyes cut to me, and his frown deepens before he glares back down at the paper.
And that’s when I realize why this is all so upsetting. Because this man I used to be head over heels in love with, the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, now looks at me like I’m his worst enemy.
I don’t know this man at all.
“Would you two excuse us for a few minutes?” Tristan’s lawyer says. “We’re going to step out for a moment.”
I look at Lara, who’s seated in the chair next to me. She says, “Sure.”
Once they leave the room, she turns to me. “How are you holding up?”
“Okay,” I lie.
She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at me. I take in the sharp angles of her cheekbones, her flawless skin, how the natural makeup she’s wearing makes her look lethal and stunning in equal measure.
I let out a breath. “I just want this to be over.”
She nods, pursing her lips slightly. I notice Lara doesn’t smile. We’ve been at this all day, and not once has her facial expression wavered from intensely focused.
“I understand. This has been really rough on you. But we’re getting close. I can feel it.” She rests a perfectly manicured hand on the stack of file folders sitting in front of her on the table. “They’re grasping at straws.”
“How can you tell?”
“They left the room. Very telltale ‘strategy.’” She air-quotes with her left hand while sipping coffee from the tall paper cup in her right, like she can’t be bothered to waste her energy gesturing with both hands. It’s quietly dismissive, and I like it.
“They’re struggling, so they want to regroup and come up with a plan,” she says while thumbing through a file. “It won’t change anything, though. You and your ex-husband had a good preregistration agreement. Everything was stipulated clearly and fairly. They’re just trying to wear you down, see if they can get you to give anything up in the eleventh hour.”
My adrenaline kicks up despite the fact that I’ve been sedentary for the past three hours.
The door opens, and Tristan walks back in with his lawyer. When they sit down, his lawyer clears his throat.
“Now then. About the flat,” he says.
“What about it?” Lara asks.
A long silence follows while Tristan’s lawyer ruffles pages in a folder. I hold my breath, feeling my muscles stiffen with each passing second.
“The Marylebone flat on Dorset Street legally belongs to Mr. Chase,” he says, putting a document in front of Lara. I have to lean over to read it.
When I see that it’s a copy of the deed without my name on it, my stomach drops.
What the hell ... How did he even do that? My name was on the deed. He showed it to me the day after we got engaged.
I bite my tongue to keep from blurting out a string of curse words. When I glance over at Lara, I notice how she doesn’t even flinch when she skims the document.
“As you can see, only Mr. Chase’s name is on the deed of the home; therefore he’s the rightful owner, and Ms. Ricci should vacate the premises immediately.”
When I glance over at Tristan and see that smug, satisfied look on his face, I want to vomit.
“I see,” Lara says, still studying the document.
I try to keep my hands steady as I sift through my folder of documents. I spot my copy of the deed.
“My name is on the deed too,” I say, holding up the document to both Tristan and his lawyer.
“I have the original deed. My name is the only one on it. I don’t know what that is.” Tristan’s voice is eerily calm as he gestures to the paper I’m holding.
For a solid five seconds I’m quiet, rendered silent by utter disbelief. He’s lying. Straight to my face.
“If you’d like a moment to confer with your client, we’re happy to give you that,” his lawyer says.
“We would appreciate that,” Lara says. “Thank you.”
As soon as he and Tristan leave the room, I’m rambling.
“This is such bullshit,” I mutter as I fly through the stack of papers, my mind racing. “My name was on the deed. I saw it with my own eyes. We met with a solicitor so I could sign all the paperwork to make it legal. That flat’s mine. I swear. I-I don’t know what Tristan is trying to pull ...”
I still as clarity slowly sinks in. He must have consulted with one of his family’s high-powered lawyers to figure out a way to forge a new deed. Yeah, it’s illegal, but Tristan and his family are rich and powerful and ruthless enough to toss ethics aside when it comes to getting what they want. Rules and decency don’t matter to them. I have zero doubt they’d do anything, even break the law, to get Tristan’s flat back.
I frantically explain all that to Lara.
Lara frowns at what I’ve said. In the quiet moment that passes, I can hear my heartbeat thud in my ears. Sweat pricks along the back of my neck. I start to take off the blazer I’m wearing when Lara lets out a sigh.
“If what you’re saying is true, if he pulled something that serious, that’s illegal.”
“Right ...” Why doesn’t she seem more upset?
She sighs. “Look, Riley. If that’s the case, you definitely have a right to fight Tristan for the flat. But it could take a long time—and a lot of money. You’d have to take him to court. Even if that’s a forged deed, it’s designed to look like a legitimate document. He must have had some corrupt lawyers and advisers to pull that off. That wouldn’t be an easy team of people to take on in court.”
Lara’s stern expression starts to fall.
My stomach drops. “Wh-what? But that’s not right. He can’t get away with that. It’s illegal ...”
She rests her hand gently on top of mine. The gesture is so soft, so nurturing, so completely in contrast with Lara’s unflinching and sharp demeanor that it throws me off for a second.
“I’ll happily help you fight it and bring along my toughest colleagues to join me. But I have to warn you: going against entitled rich guys like him can be soul crushing. It would likely be years of the courts system dragging this on and his lawyers fighting you every step of the way, making your life hell. Their goal would be to make life so miserable for you that you just give up your claim to the flat ...” I don’t even hear the rest of what she says, I’m too shocked.
How the hell can this happen? I end up with the flat—how can Tristan take it from me just like that ...?
And then I see it. In the haphazard mess of papers on the table, I spot the note he gave me that day.
This flat never felt like home until you moved in. It’s my gift to you, Miss America.
“This is the note he gave me.” I hand it to her. “The flat was a gift. You can’t legally take back a gift, can you? And that combined with the fact that I have a copy of the current deed—the deed that he’s pretending doesn’t exist. That has to count for something, right?”
Something in Lara’s stare shifts as she studies the card. A second later she looks at me. “He called you ‘Miss America’?”
My face heats in embarrassment. I nod anyway. It’s just now occurring to me how ridiculous that nickname was.
And then Lara does something I haven’t seen her do all day. The corner of her mouth quirks up. She’s actually smiling.
“This’ll work,” she says.
She stands up and opens the office door to let them back in. When they sit down, I don’t miss the way they glance at the papers all over the table. They exchange a smug look that makes me want to slap them both.
“Mr. Chase, this is your handwriting, isn’t it?” Lara says as she holds up the card to Tristan.
His eyebrows crash together. “Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“You gave the flat as a gift to Ms. Ricci.”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t.”
“According to this note you wrote, you did.” Lara says it so resolutely, so firmly.
Tristan opens his mouth but hesitates. Lara grabs the paperwork I gave her minutes ago. His gaze cuts to his lawyer, who is frowning at the documents Lara is showing them both.
“Gifts aren’t considered shared marital property; therefore you have no claim to them, Mr. Chase. Additionally, since Ms. Ricci has a copy of the deed showing her as co-owner of the flat, that means the deed you have must be forged. Which means you must have engaged in illegal actions to produce a fake deed with only your name on it, which means you’ve broken the law and could potentially be prosecuted for fraud.”
Tristan’s eyes go wide at Lara’s stern words. His lawyer aims an incredulous look at Tristan. I’m guessing he wasn’t the lawyer who helped him forge that deed, then.
Her laser stare doesn’t budge from Tristan. “Unless you’d like to risk jail time, Mr. Chase, I’d suggest you drop this whole act and cede the flat to Ms. Ricci ...”
The room is silent for what feels like a full minute. I wait for Tristan or his lawyer to say something, anything in response.
His lawyer finally clears his throat, breaking the silence. “We’d like to take some time—”
“Fucking hell, you just want to take everything from me, don’t you?” Tristan blurts while glowering at me.
My jaw falls to the floor, jolted at his angry tone. “What are you talking about?”
His lawyer turns to him and starts to speak, but Tristan ignores him, his angry glare laser focused on me.
“That flat was mine, Riley. How dare you try to take it away, just like you did with everything else in my life.”
I’m sputtering. My adrenaline has morphed into steam, leveling my insides, leaving nothing but fury and frustration behind.
“How the hell did I take away everything in your life, Tristan? You are the one who cheated. You are the one who lied. You are the one who deceived me for the entirety of our relationship.”
I don’t realize how loud my voice is until I look over at Lara and take in her shocked look. But I’m too angry to feel embarrassed. Not when my cheating ex is lashing out at me.
“You gave me that flat. You know you did. It’s clear you regret doing that or wish you could take it back, but honestly? Join the club. I wish I could take back a lot of things when it comes to you.”
The room falls silent once more. My chest heaves as I take a breath. I glance down at my trembling hands. I lost my cool. I got into a screaming match with my ex in a solicitor’s office. And I’m weirdly proud about it. I didn’t just sit there and let Tristan walk all over me, like he let his family do so many times when we were together. I stood up for myself. I always deserved that, but he never did it for me. So I did it for myself. Finally.
Lara and Tristan’s lawyer converse in civil tones. Papers are straightened and stacked. Pens are handed out. I slash my signature along the solid line of the document that will legally dissolve my marriage. Lara slides the paper to Tristan’s lawyer, who gives it to him. He does the same.
The table is cleared. The lawyers start to pack up. I watch it all in a daze.
Tristan and his lawyer get up to leave while Lara and I stay sitting. When they’re out of the room, she turns to me.
“It’s okay. I’ve seen way worse.” I can’t tell if it’s her deadpan delivery or the stoic expression on her face—maybe it’s both—but I start to laugh. Not a happy laugh. More like a tired chuckle that happens when you’re emotionally drained and have no energy left.
“Thanks, Lara.”
“Will you be all right?”
“Yeah, I just need a minute.”
“Understandable. Tell Milo I say hello.”
“I will.”
She stands up, grabs her briefcase, and leaves. I take a few minutes to just sit and savor the silence around me. And then I stand up and leave the room. I head for the elevator and halt when I see Tristan standing there. Before I can turn around and head for the stairwell, he catches my eye. I freeze.
We’re standing just a handful of feet apart. As we stare at each other, I take in the anger in his eyes as he looks at me.
Those crystal-blue eyes that used to mesmerize me. Those eyes I used to dream about.
All I see now are the eyes of a man I don’t know anymore.
The elevator dings. The impossibly shiny stainless-steel doors glide open. He steps inside. “This isn’t over, Riley.”
He’s right. I know he is. He isn’t close to giving up, despite the fact that the flat legally belongs to me now. He’s too stubborn, too petty, too selfish. He’ll spend the next month plotting ways to get me to give it back to him. He’ll text me to meet him at Last One Standing, and we’ll have one of the worst arguments we’ve ever had. He’ll resent me. He’ll hate me.
And it doesn’t stop until months after that, when I see his mother in Portugal with her lover and she concedes the flat to me.
But then he blinks, and his gaze turns pleading. It’s so jarring, I almost flinch.
“I suppose what I said the morning after our anniversary didn’t make a difference, did it?”
It’s not a question. More like a defeated remark he’s making to himself. He isn’t even looking at me when he says it; he looked off to the side before he said a word.
For a moment I’m caught off guard. He sounds like the man I used to know. Caring, concerned, kind.
But when he pivots his gaze back to me, all I see is fury. And bitterness.
The elevator doors close before either of us can say a word. I stay standing there until someone bumps into me.
I mutter an apology as I snap out of the confused haze, then scurry down the stairwell.
I have no idea what Tristan is talking about. But I’ll find out soon enough.