Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 48032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
“I don’t know why you waited so long to accept the divorce terms,” she says. “He’s been trying his hardest to handle things, and you’ve made the past few weeks really hard on us.”
I cross my arms, tempted to pinch myself and see if I’ve crossed into another reality.
She’s wearing a ‘Freshman Year Forever’ sweatshirt…
“You had me thinking he was lying about being separated from you.” She narrows her eyes at me. “He didn’t want to tell me that you even existed because you’re clearly a bitch.”
“You’re not even old enough to be in a place like this,” I say. “You should stay quiet when the adults are talking.”
Her cheeks flush red, but she speaks again. “Why do you think you deserve so much money from him? You could leave him and be happy with all he’s done for you.”
I roll my eyes and look at Nate. “What was that you were saying about me being naïve?”
“My point remains the same.” He grits his teeth. “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing. Then again, marrying me will probably be the only good decision you ever make in your life. You’re welcome.”
Fuck you.
The last word isn’t worth it with him. Or her.
Refusing to waste another second of my life in their presence, I pick up the divorce papers and head to the elevator.
As the car makes its way down to the lobby, I tap my finger against the very first page I signed.
The ink doesn’t smudge at all.
I’m fucking free.
When the doors open, my new lawyer stands to his feet.
“That was quick.” He holds out his hand for the files, flipping through the pages to double-check my work.
“Great job, Miss Jane,” he says. “I’ll have these finalized by the court as soon as possible, and I’ll be in touch with my contact about any remaining issues.”
“You’ll contact Ryder about my divorce instead of me?”
“I’ll contact Mr. Rochester.” He looks upset that I used his first name. “And yes, him instead of you. It’s not personal, and congratulations on sealing a good deal.”
“Any last bit of legal advice or well-wishes?”
“Yeah,” he says, taking his pen from my hand. “I have a huge piece of advice for you, Miss Jane.”
“I’m listening.”
“Good.” He steps closer. Then he looks over his shoulder and lowers his voice. “Run.”
“What?”
“Do it now before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?”
He runs out of the front door without warning, sending familiar goosebumps up and down my skin.
I can’t bear to let him get away.
I chase him through the parking lot, weaving through rows of luxury cars before catching him as he slides behind the wheel of a silver Mercedes. “Hey, wait!”
He tries to slam his door shut, but I grab the handle.
“Let go, Miss Jane.” He cranks the engine. “Please let go.”
“I need to know why everyone I come in contact with seems to be afraid of Ry—Mr. Rochester.” I pause. “Can you finally just tell me?”
He looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “You’re fucking with me, right?”
“No.” I hold on to his handle a little tighter. “I promise that I’m not.”
He taps his fingers against the steering wheel, looking torn between illuminating my suspicions and leaving me in the dark.
“He’s a client of mine.” He settles on the fucking obvious. “A very important client.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“I already told you to run.” He swats my hand away. “That’s all I need to say.”
Later that night, I tape three newspaper articles onto my living room wall.
Rochester Estate Tragedy
Rochester Holdings to Host Private Symphony
Edward Rochester Amongst Local Donors
Those articles are hanging next to thirteen others, below a list of questions, and a column of names that stand out on bright pink post-its:
Nate.
Odette’s.
Uber.
Mr. Walsh.
I have yet to see any connections or gain any insights.
Everything I’ve copied is a hodgepodge of information that leads to no place new.
How long has Ryder known my name?
I write that question down on a new post-it, and my doorbell rings.
“Coming!” I pick up the tip for the pizza guy.
“I don’t have change for a twenty, so—” I stop talking when I open the door.
It’s Ryder.
“Hello.” He smiles. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“Yeah, actually.” I pull the door shut behind me. “I’m in the middle of something personal.”
“Oh?” He raises his eyebrow. “Same thing as last night?”
“No.” I swallow. “It’s a… romance novel I’ve been meaning to finish.”
“Is it a good story so far?”
“I’ll let you know after I figure out the hero.”
“Please do.” He pulls a pen from his pocket and hands it to me. “My lawyer wasn’t supposed to take this from you. He always gifts his favorite clients the signing pen at the end.”
“Will I receive a picture of him bloodied and bruised in my car tomorrow morning?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Was he inappropriate with you today?”