Dominic’s lead attorney, Harrison Baxter, was a man who wore professional calm like a suit of armor, his silver tie perfectly knotted and his documents divided by pristine colored tabs. He had reviewed his opening statement until it felt like an inevitable truth, confident that a signed prenuptial agreement and a husband with vast resources would make for a very short morning.
Harrison viewed the wife as a mere obstacle, a woman with no family network and a murky past who had allowed the public to define her through years of silence. He had built a lucrative career by dismantling people exactly like her, and he saw no reason why today would be any different.
At nine-thirty-seven, the judge entered the room and the assembly rose in unison. Judge Lawrence Whitfield was not a man given to sentiment, having spent decades watching people hide their pettiness behind legal jargon and false tears.
He took his seat and adjusted his glasses, scanning the docket with an expression that suggested he was entirely immune to the prestige of the people standing before him. When he called the matter of Thorne versus Sinclair, the energy in the room shifted into a sharp, hungry focus.
“Your Honor, we are prepared to move forward,” Harrison Baxter said smoothly as he stood at his table. Judge Whitfield glanced toward the empty petitioner’s side and frowned, asking for the counsel representing Mrs. Sinclair.
When no one answered, Dominic let out a sharp exhale of irritation and tilted his head back as if his morning had been personally insulted. Gianna leaned toward him and whispered that perhaps the wife had simply changed her mind and given up.
“That would be the smartest thing she has done in a decade,” Dominic replied, his voice carrying just enough to be heard by the front row of the gallery. Judge Whitfield asked if the respondent had been properly notified, and the clerk confirmed that service had been executed weeks ago.
Just as the judge lifted his gavel to proceed in her absence, the heavy wooden doors at the back of the room swung open. The sound wasn’t loud, but in the sudden stillness of the chamber, it commanded every eye to turn toward the entrance.
She did not rush into the room or offer a frantic apology for her lateness. Instead, she stepped inside with a composed grace, her navy wool coat perfectly tailored and her hair pulled back into a sleek, professional knot.