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I slump back into my seat. My hands shaking. How long?

“This is nothing more than another manipulative tactic to prolong the divorce. We’ll get this done soon. Don’t worry.” Amanda slams her folders on the desk.

Soon? I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. Oliver has won again. When will I finally be free of him?

“Gemma, I need you to listen carefully.” She leans forward. “Starting your own business right now is risky.”

“But how long am I supposed to wait?” My voice breaks with frustration. “This keeps going and going.”

“I know, but legally, it’s a minefield. You’re still married to that asshole. Any business you start may be considered marital property. He could claim a stake in it.”

The room seems to shrink around me, the walls inching closer with each word she utters. “So, what should I do? Put my life on hold because of him? Again?” He already stole too many years from me.

“Not on hold. But perhaps... you could have someone else front the business for you until the divorce is final.”

I ponder her suggestion, turning it over in my mind like a precious gemstone. “Someone else?”

“Yes. A friend or family member you trust. This would make sure Oliver can’t touch it.”

Bastian, my brother? Or my best friends, Mary and Lil? My parents? Could I burden them with this? But then again, Sebastian always had a knack for business, and Mary and Lil would fight tooth and nail for me.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Just be cautious. Oliver is watching your every move right now, and his lawyer is playing dirty.”

Chapter 2

Lying there, a mere shadow of the titan he once was, Dad’s chest heaves like he’s run a goddamn marathon just trying to breathe.

Fucking cancer.

Novalie stands there all worried, eyes wide like a puppy dog. So innocent despite the shit she’s been through.

“Novalie,” my dad says, each word a struggle. “You should wait outside.”

Her eyes, pools of worry, meet mine, searching, begging to stay. Can’t have her seeing Dad like this.

I nod towards the door. “Go wait outside. Please.”

She taps her foot but then nods and scurries out.

I grab a chair and sit beside Dad’s hospital bed. The place reeks of disinfectant and sickness.

“Bran says hi, by the way. He’s doing good. He’s on his way, running a bit late.”

Dad nods, wheezing with the effort. “Good, that’s good.”

I watch his chest rise again, slower this time, as if the very act of breathing is hard. The heart rate monitor beeps steadily in the background. I hate hospitals. It reminds me life can go to shit really fast.

“Son.”

“Right here, Dad.” My hand finds his, skin paper-thin, veins etched deep.

“How are you?”

“Work’s great. Business is expanding.”

“Work isn’t everything. It’s time you found a wife.”

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