Chapter 6 - The Ritz and the Reality
The presidential suite at the Ritz-Carlton was glowing with warm amber light, smelling of fresh lilies and eucalyptus.
I sank into the deep leather armchair overlooking the city skyline, a glass of vintage Cabernet in my hand, feeling an overwhelming wave of relief wash over my body. For the first time in four years, the crushing weight of catering to an ungrateful man and his parasitic family was completely lifted from my shoulders.
My phone had been buzzing non-stop since I left the house at two o'clock.
I picked it up and scrolled through the notifications.
There were fourteen missed calls from Daniel, twenty-two rage-filled text messages from Brenda, and six voice messages from Megan calling me a "heartless sociopath" who was going to hell for letting newborn twins suffer.
I blocked Brenda and Megan's numbers without reading a single message.
Then I opened Daniel's texts:
14:15 - Esme, come back right now. This isn't funny. 14:45 - The pipes are freezing! How do I turn the heat up?! 15:30 - I tried to order pizza and my card was declined! Did you block my credit card too?! 16:15 - Please Esme, answer the phone. I don't know how to run the dishwasher without the specific pods Sarah buys. 17:00 - My mom says if you don't apologize by tomorrow she's forcing me to file for divorce.
I burst out laughing in the empty hotel room.
"Forcing him to file for divorce?" I whispered to myself, shaking my head. "She thinks that's a threat?"
I opened my laptop, drafted a quick email to my personal attorney, Victoria Sterling—one of the top high-net-worth divorce attorneys in the state—and attached all of our financial records, my original prenuptial agreement, and screenshots of Daniel's texts demanding half my paycheck.
Ten minutes later, Victoria called my cell.
"Esme," Victoria's sharp, professional voice came through the speaker. "I just reviewed the documents you sent over. Is this a joke? Did your husband really demand half your salary for his sister?"
"He was dead serious, Victoria," I replied, taking a sip of wine. "He thought he could dictate my finances."
"Well, I have fantastic news for you," Victoria chuckled. "Your prenuptial agreement from four years ago is ironclad. You kept all your pre-marital assets separate, and you have a clear, documented record showing you contributed eighty-two percent of the funds to the joint household account. Furthermore, the house in Highland Estates is registered solely in your name under the Voss Family Trust."
I smiled. "So he has zero claim to the house?"
"Zero," Victoria confirmed. "If we file for divorce tomorrow morning, I can have an emergency notice of eviction served to him within forty-eight hours. He'll be out on the street with his motorcycle and his cheap suits before the weekend."
"Draft the papers, Victoria," I said without a second of hesitation. "I want him served at his office on Monday morning."
"With pleasure, Esme. Get some sleep. You have surgery tomorrow."
While I slept peacefully on five-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, Daniel was spending the worst night of his life at the Highland estate.
Without access to my credit cards, he couldn't afford to order delivery. He had to eat the lukewarm, clumpy generic pasta he had cooked for his family.
Without the central heating running, the temperature inside the four-thousand-square-foot house plunged to forty-nine degrees. Daniel had to sleep on the sofa wearing his heavy winter coat, wrapped in three mismatched blankets, listening to the eerie creaks of the empty mansion.
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And to make matters worse, when he tried to take a hot shower at six the next morning, he realized I had also shut off the secondary water heater for the guest wings.
He was greeted by an icy jet of freezing water that sent him screaming out of the stall.
