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.
