Chapter 2

That night, I looked up Callum's new mate.

Isolde Faircross. Almost a million followers, posting nearly every day. All the same script — a devoted mate, a hard-won happy ending, a woman who'd clawed her way out of an abusive bond up north and found real love on the other side.

Comment after comment thanking her for the courage to speak out.

Not one video mentioned the wife whose husband she'd taken.

I'd barely set my phone down when my office door opened without a knock.

Isolde Faircross, in person. Ten years hadn't changed her face much, but everything else about her had.

Her hair was styled into long, careful curls. Her coat looked like it cost more than three months of my old rent. A diamond caught the light every time she moved her hand.

The woman who used to tremble behind my husband was gone. What stood in front of me now was calm, polished, and sure of herself.

She looked me over once, head to foot, before she spoke.

"I won't waste your time, Registrar." She dropped a cloth bag onto my desk. It landed heavy — the sound of money that had never once had to be earned the hard way. "Everything has a price. If this isn't enough, say so."

I pushed it back without opening it.

"Not everything is for sale. I don't take shortcuts on the job."

She leaned in when she said it, close enough that I got a good look at her face. Flawless. Not a single line on it, like the last ten years had simply declined to touch her.

I felt the shadows under my own eyes for the first time in years, the kind no amount of sleep fixed anymore.

Her phone lit up on the corner of my desk, screen angled toward me. Recording.

"You said the documents were insufficient." Her voice tightened, though she kept it level. "At least give me a reason."

"I don't owe you one," I said. "The decision follows procedure. I don't have to explain it to you."

She crossed her arms and laughed, short and cold.

"I get it now. Women like you are all over the place these days. Unhappy with your own life, so you hate anyone younger, anyone who did better than you."

She looked me up and down again, slower this time. "Bitter and broke. That's the disease going around with women your age."

I said nothing.

"I have a few hundred thousand followers." She pointed a finger at me. "One video, and you're out of a job. Try me."

I wasn't angry. I didn't feel humiliated either. If anything, I almost wanted to laugh.

Ten years ago, before he left, my mother had been sick and terrified the war would reach us. I begged Callum to stay, if not for me then for her.

He pushed me off and said Isolde wasn't like me — too soft, too fragile, she'd never survive without him.

Looking at the woman standing in my office now, I didn't see soft. I didn't see fragile.

I saw someone who'd learned exactly how far cruelty could get her.

I reached for the line on my desk instead of answering her.

"Ms. Faircross. You can leave on your own, or I can have security walk you out."

Jasper stepped in a beat later and held the door open, polite and pointed.

Isolde stared at me the whole way to the door, confusion slowly working its way across her face.

"Have we met before?"