My husband said, “We’re not husband and wife anymore,” and he wants to end everything. He gave me one option: I could only deal with his lawyer—so I went to meet him. I walked in, stayed calm, and said, “Yes, I’m his wife.” And in that moment… the lawyer’s hands started to shake.

He would go from office to office, trying to buy confidence. He would tell half-truths. He would omit the prenup. He would pretend he was the victim.

And one by one, lawyers would back away.

Not because of me alone—though my name did carry weight—but because no one wants to represent a client who lies to their own counsel. No one wants to walk into court and get blindsided by documents the other side has neatly organized like ammunition.

Xander had promised he would make me beg.

But I knew the truth.

He would be the one begging.

And he was.

One morning, while I was getting ready for work, there was a knock at my door.

It was early—too early for casual visitors. The sunlight was pale through the window, and my coffee was still steaming on the counter. I frowned, wiped my hands, and opened the door.

Xander stood there.

He looked… smaller. Tired. Worn out. Like the confidence had been drained out of him and replaced with desperation. The expensive jacket didn’t help. His eyes looked dull.

For a second, I just stared.

Then I stepped aside.

“Come in,” I said, because I didn’t want a scene outside. In American neighborhoods like this, people notice everything. A raised voice becomes gossip by lunch.

He walked in, hesitated like he didn’t know where to stand, then finally faced me.

“Make it quick,” I said. “I don’t have time to waste on you. We were supposed to communicate through lawyers.”

“Yeah, about that,” he muttered. “I haven’t found a good divorce lawyer yet.”

“Oh,” I said, flat and unimpressed. “That’s sad for you. Better hurry. I hear your girlfriend has been eager to become your wife.”

“I’m not worried about her anymore,” he said quickly. “Sophia, we need to talk. You’ve been sabotaging my chances. You’re scaring lawyers away so they won’t take my case. That’s not fair.”

I stared at him for a long moment.

Then I laughed.

Not a cute laugh. Not a polite laugh.

A real laugh, sharp and incredulous.

“That’s amazing,” I said. “You truly believe this is my doing?”

He looked offended. “Isn’t it?”

“Let me clear something up,” I said, my voice calm again. “I haven’t sabotaged anything. Your own choices are doing that. You lied to your lawyers about your affair. You hid the prenup. That’s enough to make them look like fools in court.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“And yes,” I continued, “my name carries weight. You may have called me useless, but I have a reputation in this profession. People do their homework. They don’t want to waste their time defending a client who built his case on dishonesty.”

Xander’s face tightened. “I’ve tried being open now,” he said, quieter. “But none of them want to help me.”

“That’s what happens when you try to fight an ironclad prenup,” I said. “You should have thought your affair through. Not that it matters now. The damage is done. No reasonable lawyer wants this fight. You’ll be giving me half of your business.”

His expression shifted like I’d slapped him with reality.

That business was his identity. His pride. His weapon. The thing he used to measure himself against everyone else.

The thing he used to make me feel small.

And now it was slipping out of his grasp.

He swallowed hard. Then, like a man who had run out of options, he started to crumble.

“Sophia,” he said, voice shaking. “Please. You know how much that business means to me. Take anything else—take the house, take whatever you want—but please don’t make me split the business.”

I crossed my arms, feeling a strange quiet satisfaction settle in my chest.