Her voice was low, too calm, the kind of quiet that always came before the worst part of the storm.

“You can’t, or you won’t?” she asked. “Because there’s a difference, Carlos. One means you’re hurting. The other means I don’t fucking matter to you.

”Carlos blinked up at her from the couch with red-rimmed eyes, disheveled and hollowed out. His body sagging like he couldn’t hold up the weight of the moment. “That’s not fair-”

“No,” she snapped, stepping back like his words were acid flung into her face. “You know what’s not fair? Sitting in my office while the whole world finds out my husband’s been screwing some faceless little bitch in a hotel while I was out there defending against people just like you. People who are secretly unhappy with their marriage. People who cheat! People who lie! I thought we were in love, Carlos!”

Her voice cracked on his name but there was no softness in it. Only anger and heartbreak. Carlos hated that he was the one making her feel that.

“That’s not what happened!” he finally burst out, voice cracking like a dam just before it broke.

“Then say what did! Say something, Carlos. Say anything. Because if you just stand there looking at me like that, like I’m the one who put the knife in our fucking back, then I’m going to walk out of here and never come back.

”He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Nothing came out. Neither the truth, nor a lie. Not even a protest or an apology came out of his mouth.

It was like there was an invisible hand grabbing his throat and cutting off the words he wanted to say.

Blair stared at him, trembling, her fists clenched at her sides. She was waiting and hoping that he would finally open up and say something. But silence was all she got. Again.

“I loved you so fucking much,” she said finally, barely above a whisper. “I thought we were a team. I thought we were real.”

Carlos’s eyes flickered, like he wanted to reach for her, to grab for her sleeve or her hand and melt into her. Like he could face this and fix this, if only he touched her. But he didn’t move. Still there was nothing.

Blair straightened with effort, swallowing down the tears that wanted to fight their way out and the scream that wanted to tear its way out of her chest.

“I’ll have the divorce papers sent in the morning.

”She turned toward the door, grabbing her bag with mechanical grace, the practiced motions of someone trying to hold it together.

Carlos stood too fast, all his athleticism leaving him in an instant as he nearly tripped over his own feet, knocking over one of the bottles on the coffee table they had picked together. It hit the floor with a hollow trunk, spinning under the couch.

“Blair, please-”

“Don’t,” she hissed the word like venom, spinning to face him with murder in her eyes. “Don’t say my name like you fucking care! You don’t!”

He said her name again, softer, more desperate. He was sinking in the deep blue sea and he couldn’t find an anchor to pull him to shore.

She flinched.

Then her face shut down. Everything inside her went quiet. Her expression smoothed into something that was unreadable for everyone else, but he’s always known her, he’s always known his Blair. Even when he didn’t.

“You know the thing?”, she said, her voice icy. I don't care who she is and I don’t care why. If you can’t trust me enough to tell me the truth, then we were never real in the first place.”

That one landed hard, even harder than a physical blow from his colleagues. Carlos physically recoiled, his shoulders hunching like she’s struck him.

And she left.

The door clicked shut with an awful finality.

Carlos stood alone, the stink of liquor and his own indecision suffocating the air around him. He didn’t cry. He didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at the door like if he stared long enough, she’d come back. Like the universe would rewind five minutes and give him another chance to say what needed saying.

He wanted to go after her. To scream that nothing had happened. That he hadn’t touched that girl. That it wasn’t what the media and everyone else thought it was. That she wasn’t some fling. That he could never bring himself to cheat on Blair, not on his Blair.

But his legs wouldn’t move. His throat still wouldn’t work. And it didn’t matter, anyway.

Because after tonight, she wouldn’t be his anymore.

He realized it all at once, like a wave crashing straight through his ribs. Like the air had been punched out of his lungs. It hit too hard and too fast for him to brace.

And for the first time since he was ten years old, Carlos sobbed.

Bent forward at the waist, arms braced on shaking knees, tears tearing out of him in great, messy, silent heaves. No words and no excuses. Just the kind of grief that didn’t care if he deserved it or not.

The kind that came because he had ruined something holy.

And there was no one left to hear him.

Five years later, Blair Kensington was now a name whispered in courtrooms and spat in disgust during cocktail lounges. Her success rate was impeccable. Her suits were sharper than most men’s egos.

She was the perfect lawyer rumored to have no emotions, nothing ever showed on her face.Her newest case was simple. It was a high-profile divorce, big money, and a messy prenup. Typical textbook stuff. She felt like she would be done in time for dinner.

She was set to represent Serena Woodsen, the country’s tennis sweetheart, in her split from tech giant Julian Woodsen. She had been a little reluctant to accept a case from someone in the field of sports, even if tennis was a million lightyears away from the NFL, but the woman needed a clean break from her husband, and Blair was the best of the best.

She had felt a bit strange about the case but she brushed it off and she walked into the courtroom.

Across the aisle sat Roman Lockwood, the most cutthroat attorney in the city, even worse than she was. Smirking like he’d already won, the bastard looked like a wolf in thousand-dollar silk. And sitting beside him, a step back and mostly shadowed, was a man in a black suit.

Carlos fucking De Leon.

Older. Colder.

But still him.

Her ex-husband.