He helped me to my feet, his touch brief but firm, and something in his expression shifted like he recognized more than he should.
“Did he know you were filing today?” he asked, his tone still calm but carrying weight.
“My lawyer handled it,” I said, confused by his interest, “he signed already.”
“That is unfortunate timing,” Ethan replied, and I could not tell whether he meant it for me or for someone else.
“Why do you care?” I asked, even though instinct told me to walk away and finish what I came for.
“Because your husband owes me five million dollars,” he said simply, as if he were discussing a parking ticket instead of a life-altering debt.
Before I could respond, everything shifted.
Later that afternoon, I was taken from a small diner by men who did not bother hiding their intentions, and the world narrowed into fear and survival.
They forced me into a vehicle, restrained my wrists, and spoke in a language I barely understood, but I caught enough to know my husband had made enemies far worse than I imagined.
“He will pay,” one of them said with a grin that made my stomach turn, “or someone else will.”