Glenn’s expression hardened. For the first time, Ethan looked genuinely afraid.

Then the ballroom doors opened.

My attorney, Nora Feldman, walked in wearing a navy suit, calm and unreadable, followed by a process server holding a sealed envelope.

The server crossed the room, stopped in front of Ethan, and said, “Mr. Parker?”

Ethan’s face drained of color.

And when the envelope was placed in his hand, everyone in that room understood the same thing at once:

I hadn’t come there hoping to survive humiliation.

I had come prepared to end it.

Ethan stared at the envelope as if not touching it might undo what was happening.

The process server stepped back. “You’ve been served.”

No one spoke.

The words hung in the air longer than they should have, heavier than they sounded. Ethan looked from the papers to me, then to Nora, then back again. The confidence that had carried him through the night cracked for the first time.

“You filed for divorce?” he asked, almost breathless.

“Earlier today,” Nora replied before I could. “He’s receiving formal notice now.”

Some guests turned away, uncomfortable. Others leaned closer despite themselves. Public scandal has a way of pulling people in—even those who claim to hate it.

Ethan finally opened the envelope. His eyes skimmed the first page, then slowed. I knew what he was reading: the petition, the financial restraints, the disclosures already prepared. He had expected panic from me. Tears, maybe. Pleading.

He hadn’t expected paperwork.

“This is insane,” he muttered. “You’re trying to destroy me.”

I laughed softly—just enough for him to hear. “No, Ethan. I’m stopping you from doing that to me.”

His jaw tightened. “You think one dramatic stunt makes you the victim?”

One dramatic stunt.

That was rich, coming from the man who had taken a microphone and announced to a ballroom that he had been disgusted by me since “the first night.”

Before I could respond, Glenn stepped forward. “Ethan, did you move marital assets through that LLC?”

The question was direct. Professional. Lethal.

Ethan straightened instinctively, as if slipping back into courtroom posture might still save him. “I’m not discussing personal matters in public.”

Glenn didn’t blink. “If any of this affects the firm’s reputation, client disclosures, or conflicts of interest, it stopped being personal.”