The silence inside the custom Leather-appointed interior of the Maybach was absolute, broken only by the quiet hum of the high-performance engine as it navigated the rain-slicked highway toward Atlanta’s high-rise financial district.

Two months passed. The winter chill had settled over Atlanta, covering the city in a crisp, clean layer of frost.

Jonathan Miller sat in a small visitor’s room at the state penitentiary, waiting for his final plea bargain hearing. He had spent sixty days in custody, abandoned by his friends, stripped of his wealth, and facing a five-year prison sentence for assault and corporate negligence.

The heavy steel door opened, and I walked into the room. I wore a tailored emerald-green coat, looking radiant, healthy, and completely at peace.

Jonathan looked up, his face sunken, his head shaved, wearing a faded blue inmate jumpsuit. He looked twenty years older.

"Victoria..." he rasped out, his voice weak and defeated. "You came."

I sat down across from him at the metal table, separated by a glass partition.

"I came to deliver the final divorce decree," I said softly, sliding a single sheet of paper through the slot beneath the glass. "It has been signed by the judge. The marriage between Charlotte Davis and Jonathan Miller is officially annulled. It no longer exists."

Jonathan stared at the paper, tears welling up in his hollow eyes. "I lost everything... my home, my mother, my company, my freedom... my life."

"You lost those things because you chose cruelty over compassion, Jonathan," I said evenly. "When you looked at me on our wedding night, you didn't see a human being who loved you. You saw someone you could power-trip over to satisfy your mother’s ego."

"I regret it every single second of every day," he sobbed, pressing his hands against his face. "If I could go back in time... if I could change that night..."

"You can't change the past, Jonathan," I interrupted gently. "You can only face the consequences of your choices. Your mother has pled guilty to federal wire fraud charges and will be serving twelve years in prison. You will serve three years under your plea agreement for domestic battery."

Jonathan wept silently, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

"I hope those three years give you enough time to reflect on what kind of man you want to become when you get out," I said, standing up from the chair. "Because the boy who hit his wife is dead."

I turned and walked toward the exit door.

"Victoria!" Jonathan called out one last time, his voice cracking with unbearable regret. "Did you ever really love me?"

I paused at the doorway, looking back at him over my shoulder with a quiet, solemn expression.