Chapter 25
It was verdict day. The courtroom smelled like stale air and was fraught with anxiety. Astoria sat beside Gerald at the petitioner's table, her hands folded in front of her, and waited for the judge to decide the rest of her life.
The gallery behind her rustled with reporters and observers, their whispered conversations a low hum.
She didn't turn to look at them. She didn't need to see their faces to know what they were thinking: the billionaire CEO and her very public divorce, finally reaching its conclusion after months of headlines and speculation.
Gerald shifted beside her, adjusting his tie. “Whatever happens,” he said quietly, “we made the strongest possible case.”
Astoria nodded without answering. Her attention had snagged on the gallery door the moment it opened.
Miller slipped inside, moving to a seat in the back row. She wore a simple black suit, and her hair was pulled back in a tight knot. Her face was neutral, but when her eyes found Astoria's across the room, something passed between them.
Monday had changed things when Miller sat at that witness stand and testified for her. Even though she’d been subpoenaed, she’d still taken a professional risk speaking the truth so openly and honestly. And the way Miller had looked at her afterward…
Astoria had replayed that moment more times than she wanted to admit.
She looked away first, returning her gaze to the empty bench. The bailiff stood near the side door, checking his watch. Any minute now.
At the respondent's table, Valerie sat perfectly still beside Rachel.
Her posture was immaculate and her expression serene, ever playing the wounded wife waiting for justice.
But Astoria knew her too well to be fooled.
She could see the tension in Valerie's shoulders and the way her fingers pressed together beneath the table. Valerie was worried. She should be.
“All rise.”
The bailiff's voice cut through the fervent conversations, and the courtroom stood in unison.
Judge Whitcombe entered through the side door, her hair and wire-rimmed glasses unchanged from every other appearance, her expression revealing nothing.
She took her seat at the bench and surveyed the room with the brisk efficiency Astoria had come to expect.
“Be seated.” Judge Whitcombe opened the folder in front of her and studied it for a moment that stretched into several. “We are here for the ruling in the matter of Shepry versus Shepry-Dane, case number 24-CV-0847.”
Astoria’s pulse thudded in her ears. Beside her, Gerald sat perfectly still.
“I have reviewed all testimony and evidence presented by both parties,” the judge continued. “I have considered the arguments of counsel and the applicable law. I am now prepared to issue my ruling.”
Judge Whitcombe looked up, her gaze sweeping across both tables.
“The central question before this court has been the division of assets accumulated during the marriage, with particular attention to the respondent's claim to equity in Shepry Global Holdings.” Her voice was measured and unhurried. “Having reviewed the evidence, I find the following:”
Astoria held her breath so long her lungs started burning.
“First, Shepry Global Holdings was founded by the petitioner three years prior to the marriage, using capital she accumulated independently. The company's foundational growth occurred before the marital partnership began.”
Gerald’s hand moved slightly on the table, a small gesture of acknowledgement.
“Second, the respondent's contributions to Shepry Global were primarily social in nature. While valuable in certain contexts, they do not rise to the level of material contribution that would justify an equity stake in the company itself.”
Across the aisle, Valerie's composure wavered. Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Third, this court finds credible the evidence presented regarding patterns of manipulation and misrepresentation by the respondent. The claims regarding the petitioner's alleged instability are unsubstantiated by any credible evidence and are hereby stricken from the record.”
The words landed in Astoria's chest like something unlocking. She’d spent so long hearing how impossible, difficult, and broken she was, and now a judge was putting it in writing that Valerie's version wasn't true.
“Therefore,” Judge Whitcombe continued, “this court orders the following: The respondent shall receive a settlement of marital assets consistent with her documented contributions to the household and marriage, totaling three point two million dollars. The petitioner shall retain full ownership and control of Shepry Global Holdings. All claims to equity in the company are denied.”
Three point two million was a fraction of what Valerie had demanded, much less what she no doubt felt that she was entitled to.
“Furthermore, both parties having agreed to waive all rights to appeal as part of the settlement framework, this matter is concluded. Court is adjourned.”
The gavel came down with a crack that echoed through the room.
For a moment, Astoria couldn't move. The judge’s words kept ringing in her head, and she realized her hands were shaking slightly against the table.
Gerald’s hand closed over her forearm, warm and steady. “We did it,” he said quietly.
Astoria managed a small nod. Her throat felt dry and scratchy.
She let herself look at Valerie then—really look. Her ex-wife's face had gone pale, her serene mask shattered into something ugly and furious. She was whispering rapidly to Rachel, her hands cutting sharp gestures through the air, but Rachel's expression was resigned.
It was over. After almost a year of fighting, after years of marriage to a woman who'd made her believe she was fundamentally unlovable, it was actually over.
Astoria turned her head toward the gallery.
Miller was still there, sitting and watching. And when their eyes met this time, Miller smiled, small and genuine and warm.
You stood up and told the truth to help me, Astoria thought.
The courtroom was beginning to empty as people filtered out, the low buzz of conversation filling the space. Gerald was saying something about paperwork, next steps, the press waiting outside, but Astoria heard none of it.
By the time she left the courtroom, the press was waiting for her on the courthouse steps.
Astoria saw them through the glass doors before she pushed through—a cluster of cameras and microphones, reporters jostling for position, the particular hungry energy of people who smelled a story.
Gerald's hand found her elbow, steadying. “I’ll handle the statement. You don’t have to say or do anything.”
She nodded, grateful. The doors opened, and the August heat hit her like a wall, thick and still, the summer refusing to break. Voices erupted immediately.
“Ms. Shepry, how do you feel about the verdict?”
“Astoria! Over here!”
“Will you be making a statement about your ex-wife’s claims?”
Gerald stepped forward, positioning himself between Astoria and the cameras. “Ms. Shepry is pleased with the court's ruling and looks forward to putting this matter behind her. She will not be taking questions at this time.”
Astoria stood behind him, her face neutral as she scanned the crowd. The reporters weren't who she was looking for.
There. Off to the side, away from the press scrum, standing near the base of the steps was Miller.
She was watching Astoria with an expression that made something twist in her chest, something hesitant and uncertain but hopeful, like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to be here.
Gerald was still fielding questions, his voice droning in the background.
Astoria touched his arm lightly. “I need a moment,” she said quietly.
He followed her gaze, saw Miller, and nodded once. No judgment, no questions. “Take your time. I'll wrap this up.”
Astoria descended the remaining steps, moving past the reporters who parted for her automatically without seeming to notice she was leaving.
Her heels clicked against the concrete. The sun was too bright, the air too heavy, and her heart was beating too fast for something as simple as walking toward someone.
She stopped a few feet from Miller. Close enough to talk, but still far enough to retreat if she needed to.
“Hi,” Miller said.
“Hi.”
A pause stretched between them, filled with five weeks of silence and everything that had happened before it.
“Congratulations,” Miller said finally. “You won.”
“Because of you.” The words came out before Astoria could think better of them. “Monday, what you did—”
“I told the truth.” Miller shook her head slightly. “That's all.”
Astoria shook her head. “No, you testified against your own firm's client. You risked your career.”
“Some things are worth the risk,” she said in a hushed tone.
The words hung in the air. Astoria felt them land somewhere deep, in a place she'd kept locked for a very long time.
“Why, though?” she asked. “After everything, after I let you walk away, why would you do that for me?”
Miller's expression shifted, something raw surfacing beneath the composure. “You know why.”
“But you ended it,” Astoria said, and the words came out rougher than she intended. “You walked out of my house, and out of my life, and you didn't look back.”
“I looked back.” Miller's voice was quiet. “I've done nothing but look back since that night.”
Astoria had replayed that night so many times: Miller standing in her living room, explaining the logic—Valerie's suspicion, the professional consequences, the scandal that would destroy them both. It had all made sense, and Astoria knew it was what had to be done.
But sense didn't explain why Miller had shown up on Monday and said what she said under oath when she could’ve given vague answers to protect herself and her career.
“I understood why you left,” Astoria said. “What I don't understand is why you didn’t play it safe on the witness stand.”
Something shifted in Miller's expression. “Because I couldn't let her destroy you with lies. Not when I knew the truth.”
“You could have stayed away, kept your head down, and let Rachel handle it.”
“No.” Miller shook her head. “I couldn't.”
The simple certainty in her voice made Astoria's chest ache.
“Valerie spent so many years telling me I was impossible to love,” she said. “That anyone who got close enough to really know me would eventually leave. When you walked out, I thought she was finally right.”
“Astoria—”
“But you didn't leave because I was too much.” She held Miller's gaze. “You left because you were trying to save me. And then you spoke up, even when it cost you something.”
“It would have cost me more to stay quiet.” Miller's voice was rough. “Sitting there, watching her try to tear you apart with fabricated claims, knowing I could stop it—” She broke off. “I couldn't live with myself if I'd said nothing.”
Astoria let that land. It wasn't a declaration of love. It was something more honest than that: a choice made, a price paid, actions instead of words.
They stood there on the courthouse steps with the summer heat pressing down and the distant sound of reporters still calling questions to Gerald.
The case was over, and there was nothing standing between them anymore except everything that had happened between them and the fear of wanting something this much.
“What happens now?” Astoria asked.
Miller looked at her, the same way she had in hotel rooms and all the moments Astoria had tried so hard to forget. “I don't know. What do you want to happen?”
The question Astoria had been avoiding since July. What did she want? She'd spent so long not letting herself want anything, not letting herself believe she deserved anything, that the answer felt dangerous to speak aloud.
But Miller was standing here, looking at her like she was worth the risk, and maybe, just maybe, it was time to believe her.
“I want to talk,” Astoria said. “A real conversation. Not here with reporters and half of Phoenix Ridge watching.”
“Okay.” Miller nodded. “I'd like that.”
“Friday. There's a coffee shop on Oceanview. It’s quiet and private. I go there sometimes when I need to think.”
“I know the one.” A small smile tugged at the corner of Miller's mouth. “The one with the terrible scones.”
“The scones aren't terrible.”
“They're objectively terrible, Astoria.”
Something bloomed in her chest. This was what she'd missed. Not just the wanting or the heat between them, but this—the ease, the way Miller could make her almost laugh in the middle of a crisis.
“Friday,” Astoria repeated. “Two o'clock.”
“I'll be there.”
They stood for another moment, neither moving to leave.
Astoria wanted to reach out and touch her, to close the distance between them and stop pretending she didn't ache with how much she'd missed her.
But they were standing in public, in front of reporters, in the aftermath of a verdict that had made headlines. Some things would have to wait.
“Miller.” She said the name just to feel it in her mouth. “What you did on Monday, testifying like that.”
“Yeah?”
“No one's ever stood up in public and risked something real for me.”
Miller's expression softened into something that made Astoria's breath catch. “You're worth it,” she said simply. “You always were.”
“Friday,” Astoria said again, because she didn't trust herself to say anything else.
“Friday.” Miller smiled, that genuine warmth that had undone Astoria from the very beginning. “I'll see you then.”
She turned and walked away, down the courthouse steps and toward the street. Astoria watched her go—the straight line of her shoulders, the confident stride, the way she glanced back once before disappearing around the corner.
Gerald appeared at her side. “Ready?”
Astoria took a breath. The air still tasted like summer, heavy and ripe, but something had shifted. The season was ending. Something new was beginning.
“Yes,” she said. “Let's go.”