Cassandra's expression softened for Andrew, but her anger at me intensified.

"Apologize to Andrew," she demanded. "Or we're through."

I met her gaze, my heart sinking like a stone in a well. For five years, I'd practically lived at the firm, taking all kinds of cases. Top firms across the country tossed me offers, but I shut them down without a second thought.

I did it all for her, and in return, she was ready to torch our marriage over a weaselly intern who thrived on drama.

Maybe I'd been chasing a ghost from the start, a love that was never mine to hold. My heart went numb, like a switch had flipped.

"Fine, through is through," I said.

...

Cassandra froze, then pointed a finger at my nose. "You've got someone on the side, don't you? That's why you snitched, and now you're pushing for a divorce. Let me make one thing crystal clear: you screwed up, so you'll walk away with nothing."

Her words clicked like a lock snapping shut. She'd been plotting to ditch me for a while. But with my heart already in the grave, her threats slid off me like rain on a windshield.

I nodded, calm as a summer lake. "Alright. I'll send you the divorce agreement tonight."

I scooped up my box of belongings and walked out, heading not to our shared home but to the apartment I'd bought before we married.

That night, my phone pinged with a message from Andrew. A photo loaded, showing him and Cassandra in that Maybach. Her blouse was half-buttoned, her cheeks flushed like she'd just run a marathon. His neck was a canvas of hickeys, bold as a neon sign.

I let out a dry laugh, then posted the photo to my social media, captioned, [Divorce party. Cheers to a new chapter.]

Then I collapsed onto the bed, letting sleep swallow me whole.

The next morning, pounding on my door jolted me awake. Groggy, I stumbled over and opened it, only to catch a stinging slap across the face. The pain snapped me awake, sharp and bright.

I glared at Cassandra. "What's wrong with you? It's barely dawn."

She shook with rage. "You disgusting, low-life creep! Why did you post that photo? Because of your jealous stunt, Andrew nearly killed himself last night. You'd better post a retraction right now, admit you photoshopped that picture, and beg for his forgiveness."

I looked at her twisted face, snorting, "That photo? He sent it to me. I figured he wanted me to spread the word about your steamy little affair. If nothing filthy is going on, why are you losing your mind over it?"

She raised her hand again, but I caught her wrist and flung it aside. "That's strike three. Don't test me."

She glared, her eyes blazing with hate. "Is there no depth you won't sink to? Andrew and I were dining with clients last night, and I drank too much. He sent you that photo so you wouldn't worry. But you're eaten up with spite, trying to ruin our reputation and push Andrew to the edge. Why don't you drop dead?"

Her tirade disgusted me to no end. I slammed the door in her face, blocked every number she'd ever used, and booked a flight out of the city.

After five years of slaving for Cassandra's firm, I figured I'd earned a break.

As I was tossing clothes into a duffel bag, an unknown number buzzed my phone. I answered, and Cassandra's voice exploded through the speaker.

I hung up before she could rant, blocking that number, too.

At the airport, as I handed my passport to the clerk, two policemen stepped in front of me. "Lester Esposito, you're under arrest for stealing trade secrets. Come with us."

Before I could process the words, cold cuffs snapped onto my wrists.

...

They marched me through the terminal.

At the police station, I spotted Cassandra and Andrew in the lobby, whispering to each other.

Andrew's eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction when he saw me cuffed. "Lester, I get that you're sore about getting fired, but stealing client data is a crime."

I ignored him and locked eyes with Cassandra. "When did I ever steal anything?"

She folded her arms. "Don't play dumb. That flash drive you took has our top clients' info. That's theft."

My temples throbbed. "Have you got no shame left? Those clients are personal networks I've built over five years. They're loyal to me, not your firm."

Her face darkened. "Who is the shameless one here? Without Lockhart Lawfirm propping you up, you're just a nobody from nowhere. Hand the drive to Andrew, or you'll rot in prison."

I realized that she was trying to funnel my hard-earned clients to Andrew, paving his path to glory.

Back in the day, when I'd asked her advice on a tough client, she had torn me to shreds, calling me a talentless hack.

Now I saw why. She just didn't like me.

I took a deep breath, my voice cutting like a blade. "Forget my occupation? Throwing me in jail is a tall order."

She leaned close, whispering in my ear, "Maybe I don't have ironclad proof to lock you up, but what if I let it slip that you're selling client data? Think you'll still have a career? Think any client will touch you with a ten-foot pole?"

Then her tone softened. "If you love me, stop this nonsense. Drop the divorce talk, and I'll get you back at the firm."

I almost laughed out loud at her gall. She was delusional to think I'd crawl back to her and slave away again.

I'd been lovesick, but I wasn't brain-dead or spineless.

I stepped back, putting distance between us. "If Andrew wants my clients, let him try to take them."

When both hard and soft tactics failed, her gaze turned venomous. "You'll regret this."

She grabbed Andrew's arm and stormed out.

As I'd figured, they had no real evidence. After 48 hours in a holding cell, I was cut loose.

But as I signed out, the female officer shot me a look of pure disgust.

I powered on my phone, and a tidal wave of missed calls and texts flooded in. Ignoring them, I checked the city's lawyer forum.

My name was plastered at the top, bold and ugly.

Gone were the compliments for me. Now I was called an unethical dirtbag, a corrupt attorney, and a cheating scumbag.

...

Cassandra wasn't just sabotaging my career; she was gunning for my entire life, all to prop up Andrew.

I scrambled to pull together evidence to clear my name, but as a lawyer, I knew time was everything. I'd missed the window to fight back. Now, even solid proof couldn't fully undo the damage.

Sure enough, a chunk of my clients jumped ship to Andrew. He got so full of himself that he showed up at my apartment to gloat. "If you'd just played ball and handed over the clients, you wouldn't have been in this mess. Some guys never learn their place."

My blood boiled, and I grabbed his collar. "You think you can steal my work with dirty tricks and call it yours? A real lawyer wins cases with brains, not by sucking up to the boss. Let's see how long you last hiding under her skirt."

That hit a nerve. His fist came flying, and before I knew it, we were tangled in a brawl.

Cassandra arrived, yanking a baseball bat from her car and swinging it at the back of my head. Pain seared through me, white-hot and blinding, but she didn't stop.

As my vision faded, I saw her fussing over Andrew's scraped knuckles, not sparing a glance at me.

I woke up in a hospital room, stunned to see Sherry Watson sitting beside me. She was a college fellow and Cassandra's longtime rival.

"Sherry? Why are you here?" I blinked.

She masked a flicker of pity. "If I hadn't shown up, you'd have been roadkill."

I pressed my lips together, managing a weak, "Thanks."

"If you really wanna thank me, join my firm as a partner," she proposed.

I hesitated. "The online rumors..."

She cut me off. "If I bought that trash, I wouldn't have hopped a red-eye back to the city the second I heard you got canned. Plenty of your clients aren't buying it either. Bruno Benson told me that wherever you go, his company follows. Parting with you is my gain."

Bruno was the whale of a client I'd spent six months reeling in. Cassandra thought the contract was her ticket to dumping me, but she had miscalculated.

Clueless, Cassandra and Andrew strutted into Benson Group's headquarters.

"We owe this Fortune 500 deal to your pull," Cassandra gushed, her eyes sparkling with ambition. "Once we lock in the next steps, I'm buying you a penthouse."

Andrew's grin was so wide it could've split his face, but the secretary's words stopped them dead. "Mr. Benson specified Lester as our legal counsel, not Lockhart Lawfirm."