Chapter 7

Robert tore out of the hospital parking lot and drove straight to Jessica's place.

The second he stepped inside, he froze.

An hour ago, the living room had been spotless. Now it looked like a crime scene—broken dishes scattered across the kitchen island, furniture overturned, chaos everywhere.

In the corner, Jimmy crouched on the floor, his tear-streaked face bearing two bright red handprints.

Jessica sat slumped on the edge of the sofa, scrolling through her phone with a look of pure irritation.

When she noticed Robert, she stood abruptly and hurled their belongings toward the door.

"Take Jimmy and get out! I'm not running a daycare for your baggage."

Robert sidestepped the flying bag.

"What the hell happened? Why are you so upset?"

Jessica didn't bother with pleasantries. Her voice was sharp, cutting.

"You got fired, Robert. Fired. Where's the research paper you promised me? Where's my tenure-track position? I didn't waste all this time with you for nothing."

She jabbed a finger at Jimmy.

"And him—he bit me!"

Jimmy sprang up from his corner, tears still clinging to his lashes.

"You're lying! You hit me first! You said my dad was useless and called me a little bastard!"

"Say that again, you brat! You want another smack?"

Jimmy flinched, then—emboldened by Robert's presence—dropped to the floor and wailed dramatically, kicking his legs in a full-blown tantrum.

Robert had come here hoping for a moment of peace. Instead, he'd walked into a war zone.

Still, memories of happier times with Jessica softened his anger. He tried to placate her.

"Jessica, come on. Don't be like this. I'll take you shopping—get you that necklace you wanted. The one with the emeralds."

He forced a smile. "I'll figure out the tenure thing. Don't worry."

But Jessica didn't melt into his arms like she used to. Instead, she looked him up and down with open contempt.

"You'll figure it out? With what, Robert? You just got fired. You have nothing. You think I'm stupid enough to believe you anymore?"

Robert stiffened, but he kept his tone even.

"Jessica—"

"Don't Jessica me." Her voice rose, bitter and venomous. "You think I don't know what you really are? I only stayed with you because you said you'd help my career. Soul mates? God, you actually believed that? It was a joke, you pathetic old man."

She kept going, tearing into him with increasing venom—until suddenly, she stopped mid-sentence.

Robert looked up. Jessica was staring at her phone, her expression strange. Almost guilty.

Something twisted in his gut.

He lunged forward and snatched the phone from her hand.

"Give it back!" Jessica shrieked, clawing at him.

But Robert had already seen it—Scarlett's number at the top of the screen. And beneath it, a string of messages Jessica was frantically trying to delete.

Evidence. Photos. Audio recordings. Contracts.

Everything. Every affair. Every bribe. Every dirty secret from the past seven years—documented, timestamped, and sent directly to Scarlett.

The last message read:

[I sent you everything. Don't forget what you promised me.]

Robert stared at the screen, his mind refusing to process what he was seeing.

When he finally looked up, Jessica was already backing toward the door.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her back.

"Jessica!"

He threw her to the ground. His hand connected with her face—hard.

"You bitch! I gave you everything! And this is how you repay me?"

All the rage he'd been swallowing since this morning erupted. He hit her again. And again.

Jessica recovered quickly, fighting back with equal fury.

"You think you're some kind of saint? You never got me that research paper! You kept stalling on my promotion! You just wanted to control me! I was securing my own future—what's wrong with that?"

Robert's voice cracked. "You got played, you idiot! Scarlett already gave that research to the hospital. You think you can outsmart her? You're nothing!"

"She—what?"

Jessica's face went slack with shock.

Robert struck her again, harder this time.

"I've lost everything. You're going down with me. We're all going down."

He didn't stop until the wail of sirens cut through the chaos.

By the time he looked down, Jessica was barely conscious.

The police arrived within minutes. Jessica was taken to the hospital. Robert and Jimmy were escorted to the station.

During questioning, Robert tried to downplay it. "Just a lovers' quarrel. Nothing serious."

But Jessica's story was different.

"I don't know him," she told the officers flatly. "He's been stalking me. He broke into my home and assaulted me. I want full compensation—medical expenses, emotional distress, everything."

Robert's patience snapped. He pulled out his phone and addressed the officer in front of him.

"I'm posting bail. And I want my lawyer. Once he gets here, I'm walking out of here."

But when he tried to transfer funds, the transaction failed.

He tried another card. Then another.

Declined. Declined. Declined.

A cold dread settled in his chest.

Seven days ago, I had instructed Bobby to freeze every account under Robert's name. Today, the order had gone into effect.

Robert rifled through his wallet. All he had left was forty-three dollars in crumpled bills.

From the top of the world to rock bottom—in less than twelve hours.

His phone buzzed. Bobby's name flashed on the screen.

"Mr. Sullivan," Bobby said, his tone clipped and formal. "I'm calling to inform you that due to your failure to appear in court, the divorce agreement has automatically taken effect. Your marriage to Ms. Scarlett Lewis is now legally dissolved."

Robert's blood ran cold.

And then he remembered—the prenuptial agreement. The one he'd signed in front of witnesses all those years ago.

The clause that had seemed so harmless at the time:

[In the event of infidelity, the husband forfeits all assets and claims.]

Everything he had—his career, his reputation, his money—was gone.