Page 252 of The Wright Man

"Good morning," I said stiffly, sliding into the chair across from him and pretending I didn't want to throw my whole purse at his head. "I thought this was just a mediation between the two of us."

Gavin shrugged like this was a brunch reservation and not a goddamn legal ambush. "I didn't think coming alone was in my best interest. You were welcome to bring your lawyer too."

I clenched my jaw. "I would have, if you hadn't requested a last-minute change to the mediation date."

He gave me a patronizing tilt of the head, eyes skating over my face like he could still read me. "You look... tired. Rough weekend?"

My spine stiffened.

So that was the game.

He knew yesterday had been Sister Sunday. Knew I'd be recovering from alcohol and trash TV. That's why he moved the meeting. He was trying to catch me off guard, hoping I'd come in shaky, distracted, underdressed, and alone. And he was right. But he didn't need to know that.

"I look better on my worst day than you did on our wedding day," I shot back, and then gave him a cold smile and gestured to my right cheek. "What happened there?"

His hand twitched toward the faint line under his cheekbone. I remembered the sound it made when my palm cracked against his face. The sting in my hand. The rage in my chest. That day he put my things on the curb like I was trash.

His smirk slipped into a sneer, but he didn't respond.

Good. I hope it throbs when he shaves.

Wendy clapped once, like a kindergarten teacher trying to defuse a fire drill. "Let's go ahead and get started, okay? We're all here to work toward a fair and peaceful resolution."

I barely heard it, already bracing myself for the bullshit to come.

As expected, Gavin's lawyer dove right in, stating Gavin's claim for half ownership of Dana's Chair. Called it marital property. Never mind that Gavin hadn't lifted a single fucking finger to help me build it. Never mind that I'd worked three jobs to save for the down payment, that I'd taken out a loan in my name, that the entire vision, brand, and clientele were mine.

My salon. My dream. My mother figure's name on the goddamn sign.

I crossed my arms and let them finish their little monologue about fairness and assets and "financial need," trying not to explode. Gavin's lawyer—greasy and smug—tacked on that Gavin had "greater need" for the funds now that he had a child and another on the way.

I blinked.

"Oh, I see," I said slowly, voice icy calm. "So, Gavin is entitled to half of my business... because he cheated on me and got a bitch pregnant twice?"

"Language," Wendy chirped nervously.

The lawyer didn't blink. "The court doesn't consider infidelity when it comes to division of marital assets. However, given that Mr. Riddle will have two dependents—"

"Two dependents that are the direct result of his infidelity," I snapped, leaning forward, heat blooming in my cheeks.

The lawyer turned slightly in his seat, glanced at Gavin.

"I have a responsibility to my children," Gavin said, like I'd somehow forgotten the toddler who looked just like him and the woman in the hotel robe with a belly full of betrayal. "They deserve stability."

"Then maybe their father should provide it," I shot back.

He leaned in, voice low, smugness fully weaponized now. "You couldn't even give me kids, Angelica. You failed at the one thing that would've made our marriage work."

The air left my lungs.

Wendy gasped.

And still, Gavin wasn't done.

"You didn't tell me before we got married that your body was broken. That you'd spend our whole marriage popping out miscarriages and excuses. If I'd known—"

"If you'd known," I repeated, my voice shaking but steady, "you would've what? Walked away? Found a new bitch quicker?"