Page 65

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

I SAT STIFFLY in the leather chair, my back straight, spine aching with tightness I refused to acknowledge. My nails tapped rhythmically against the polished surface of the desk, a steady tick that matched the pounding in my head. I was waiting—not for answers, because I already knew them—but for the moment this idiot across from me finally said it out loud.

That I was owed something.

That Kain Blackwood, after all the years I gave him, all the shit I tolerated, all the nights I listened while he screamed through nightmares that weren’t mine to carry—owed me.

I had stood by him, looked at that god awful face every single day. I was the one who cleaned up after the rage, who told the VA reps what he couldn’t, who whispered him back into himself when the war came clawing through his skin. I didn’t run. He did. One day I came home and that asshole had taken off with Adly and Calder.

And now—because he wanted to play house with some wide-eyed, broken little stray who didn’t know him like I did—I was supposed to walk away? Quietly?

Not a goddamn chance.

The lawyer across from me, some smug, balding man in a department store suit, let out a breath and leaned back in his chair with all the world weary drama of someone who thought they were smarter than the room.

“Mrs. Blackwood—”

“What do I get?” I cut in, to the point and unflinching. “What does that bastard owe me?”

He didn’t flinch. Just gave me that same dull, practiced expression, like he’d seen too many women sitting in this exact chair, ready to go to war. He adjusted the papers in front of him before speaking again.

“Here’s the issue,” he said, in that maddeningly calm tone. “Because your husband was medically discharged and is receiving VA disability compensation, that income is classified as protected. It’s not considered marital property under federal law, and therefore, it cannot be divided in divorce proceedings.”

I blinked.

I heard every word, but they felt like they were coming from underwater, muffled and slow, like the current of the room had shifted and left me struggling to keep up.

“What?” My voice was calm—too calm.

He shifted in his seat again, folding his hands neatly over the file. “VA disability benefits are exempt from asset division. You’re entitled to a portion of jointly owned property—vehicles, your home, anything acquired during the marriage—but his disability pay is off limits.”

I stared at him, the words clicking into place slowly, painfully.

“You’re telling me,” I said, dragging each word like it was made of nails, “that after all these years—after everything I gave that man—I walk away with nothing?”

His mouth tightened into a thin line. “If he’s also receiving military retirement—”

“He’s not,” I snapped, cutting him off before he could dangle any false hope. “And if he is, it’s not the kind I can touch.”

He hesitated, but he didn’t deny it. “Then… no,” he said, voice quiet now. “You won’t be entitled to any portion of his benefits.”

The air in the room turned thick, pressing against my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I sat perfectly still, gripping the arms of the chair until the leather creaked beneath my fingers, nails digging in as the truth hit me like a freight train.

“So, that’s it?” I whispered. “I get the scraps? I just walk away with a worn-down house and no way to keep my life afloat?”

“You may still be able to pursue spousal support,” he offered, tone cautious, like he knew it wouldn’t help. “But given that his only verifiable income is VA disability, a judge is unlikely to grant it.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry and raw. I knew he was somehow funneling money he earned from the club, but I hadn’t been able to trace it.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’d planned for this moment. Counted on it. Knew the second Kain got fed up enough to leave, I’d bleed him dry. I’d earned that. Deserved it.

And now the law had twisted itself against me.

“TRICARE?” I asked, my voice flat, lifeless. “Base access?”

He sighed before answering, as if even he was exhausted by the system he represented. “Your husband didn’t serve for twenty years, so you don’t qualify under the 20/20/20 rule. Once the divorce is finalized, you’ll lose TRICARE immediately. And since he’s no longer active duty, you’ve already lost your base privileges.”

I stared at him.

I didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

But something inside me cracked.

I was losing everything.

No health insurance. No guaranteed income. No retirement. Nothing but a crumbling house and a last name that no longer carried any weight.

I shoved back from the desk, rising too fast. The blood roared in my ears, my pulse wild and uneven, my skin too tight for the rage boiling beneath it.

“This is bullshit,” I spat, voice trembling as I fought for air. “I’ve been married to that man for over a decade, and you’re telling me I walk away with nothing ?”

He raised both hands in a slow, practiced gesture—calm down, ma’am, don’t throw a chair—but he didn’t speak right away.

“I understand this isn’t what you expected—”

I cut him off with a bitter, jagged laugh that felt like it scraped out from deep inside my chest.

“What I didn’t expect,” I hissed, “was to be replaced by some half-broken little bitch he dragged off the street like a rescue dog. Some trembling stray he thinks makes him a better man.”

For the first time, the lawyer’s expression shifted. A flicker of unease crossed his face—maybe because he finally saw me for who I really was. Or maybe because he realized I wasn’t walking out of here with dignity.

“Well,” he said slowly, “you may be entitled to the majority of the shared assets if you can prove adultery.”

I clenched my jaw, breathing hard through my nose to keep from exploding. “His bastard friends will cover for him. And Kain doesn’t even want the house.”

He nodded once, offering nothing more than a vague, bureaucratic shrug. “The court may still consider that a gesture of goodwill.”

His tone said we were done here.

That I’d lost.

But I wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

I had spent years building my life around Kain, around the knowledge that he would never leave me, not really. Because he couldn’t survive without me. Because no one else would put up with the storm he carried inside.

And now?

Now I was being shoved out with nothing but the bones of a plan I thought would never be needed.

No.

No, this wasn’t how it ended.

Without a word, I turned on my heel and walked out of the office, the door slamming behind me hard enough to rattle the frame and make the receptionist flinch.

The moment the thick, humid air of the afternoon hit my face, I drew in a breath so sharp it felt like it might split my chest. The heat clung to my skin like the panic still clinging to my ribs, and I stood there for a second, motionless, as the weight of everything pressed down.

My hands were shaking, fingers twitching as if they didn’t know what to do first—break something or hold on tighter. My pulse thudded too fast, too hard, blood roaring in my ears as if my body knew I was unraveling and was trying to outrun it.

I couldn’t let it end like this. I couldn’t let him walk away while I was left with scraps and silence.

There had to be a way to fix this. To shift the board back in my favor.

And then the idea came, not a spark, but a slow, cold certainty sliding into place. The last move I hadn’t played.

I dug through my bag with trembling hands, fingers curling around my phone like it was a loaded gun. Unlocking the screen, I scrolled until I reached the name I wanted. The line rang once. Then twice.

“Get your ass over to the house,” I snapped.