"I'm sorry, Ms. Henson. I was wrong," he murmured, voice trembling. "I shouldn't have spoken out of turn. I upset Mr. Barnes... Please, don't blame him."
He looked up at Claire, eyes wide and wet—a kicked puppy begging for scraps.
"I don't blame you, Ethan. I'm the one who dragged you into this," Claire cooed. She produced a tissue and gently wiped the blood from his upper lip, her voice dripping with a sweetness she hadn't used on me in years.
Nausea rose in my throat. I snatched the divorce agreement from the table and slammed it down in front of her.
"If you don't want your precious assistant beaten to a pulp, sign. Now. Otherwise, every time I see his face, I'll finish what I started."
The threat snapped something inside her.
Slap!
Her palm connected hard with my cheek.
"Have you lost your mind?" she screamed. "Ethan is just my assistant! What does our divorce have to do with him?"
My face burned, a high-pitched ringing filling my ears. I ran my tongue over the inside of my cheek, tasting copper.
I stared at her, then at Ethan, still cowering behind her like a shield.
"Are you sure he's just your assistant?" I asked quietly.