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We’ve been negotiating this damn divorce for three months—ever since we reached the ten-year clause in our separation agreement—and not once have they brought up any of this shit.

Sure, Celine had tried to get me to leave the city again, but she hadn’t looked at changing anything else that we’d previously settled on. The whole point of the ten-year clause was so this divorce would be uncontested, but all she’s done since I came back to the city is contest the damn thing time and time again.

Fucking hell. At this rate, we are going to have to take this to a judge. I’m not going to deal with this anymore. The fact that we had been legally separated for ten years and still have to jump through all these hoops to get the divorce finalized is bullshit.

As far as my life is concerned, Celine and I are divorced—but because I’d been a naive idiot back in the day, I’d caved to a separation decree instead, making it so we are still legally bound together and a marital unit, according to the government. It is a nightmare. I just want to be free of the damn woman.

There is no love between us, no emotional or physical connection. We are exes—hell, we are enemies.

Why the fuck does she have to keep holding on?

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” Halston leans back in his armchair. “The papers are drawn up according to the settlements outlined in the separation agreement they signed previously.”

“Cullen here never signed a marital property partition agreement with my client; therefore, any property he purchased is considered community property.”

“Except he purchased those properties using solely separate funds. I have the papers—” he reaches for a set of documents on the small table between our armchairs, flicking through and pulling a paperclipped stacked out “—right here.”

Darcy purses her lips, staring at the proffered documents.

She had to know that Halston anticipated this scenario. I mean, neither of us knew for sure that they would try to weasel the houses from me, but Halston had made me take the precautions anyway. Everything I have done over the last ten years Halston has combed through to prevent any potential loophole they would exploit. It has been a brutal process, but I know that I am covered.

Darcy flicks her gaze to Celine, an unspoken agreement passing between them, before squaring back up to Halston.

“Doesn’t matter. Your client committed adultery; therefore, we are requiring additional compensation for emotional and mental damage in the divorce settlement.”

“My client has not committed adultery.”

“No?” Darcy tilts her head and looks at me. “Are you sure you want to stick by that statement?”

What the hell is she on about?

Adultery? What is this, the medieval times?

How could I—

Oh. Fuck.

FUCK.

They can’t mean—

How did they find out?

No, there’s no way she knows about Verity. If she did, she would’ve kicked up a way bigger fuss. Hell, Celine would’ve gone fucking apoplectic. Instead, she’s sitting here all smug. Maybe they know I’m dating someone, but not who. Verity and I haven’t been very public.

I slowly crane my neck to Halston, who regards me with a slight frown.

“Can we talk outside for a second?”

There’s a triumphant smirk from Darcy, causing an easy mask of apathy to slip onto Halston’s face as he nods and goes to exit the office. I follow closely behind.

He pulls me into an empty meeting room, shutting the door with more force than necessary.

“What did you do?”

I raise my hands defensively. “Look, I forgot to tell you.”

“You forgot to tell me what?”