Bankrupting My Husband’s Fake Perfect Family Chapter 11

Bankrupting My Husband’s Fake Perfect Family Chapter 11: The Lawyer’s Touch

“Keep moving,” Sebastian ordered.

Rain lashed against the concrete steps of the mediation center. The storm had broken the moment we left Julian choking on his own ruined life.

“He looked like a corpse,” I said, staring at the gray pavement.

“He is a corpse,” Sebastian replied. “He just hasn’t stopped breathing yet.”

Sebastian stripped off his suit jacket and dropped it over my shoulders. The heavy wool retained his body heat, shielding me from the freezing downpour.

“My car is at the curb,” he said, steering me by the elbow. “We are going to my place.”

“I have a hotel booked.”

“Cancel it,” he instructed. “Julian knows your usual spots. You need a fortress tonight.”

I didn’t argue. I slid into the back of his waiting Maybach.

Ten minutes later, the private elevator doors opened. Sebastian’s penthouse sat high above the city, entirely encased in glass. Rain battered the floor-to-ceiling windows, distorting the city lights into blurred yellow streaks.

He walked straight to a crystal decanter on the bar cart.

“Ice?” he asked, pouring amber liquid into two heavy tumblers.

“Neat,” I replied. “Fill it to the top.”

He handed me the glass. Our fingers brushed. A sharp jolt of static snapped against my skin.

I took a long swallow. The whiskey burned fiercely down my throat, chasing away the lingering chill of the courthouse.

“You destroyed him,” Sebastian noted. He stood a few feet away, leaning against the glass pane. “Total annihilation.”

“He destroyed himself. I just handed him the mirror.”

“He’s going to rot in a cell.”

“Good,” I answered. “I hope his mattress is thin.”

“Are you worried about the custody threat?” Sebastian asked, studying my face.

“He can’t afford a lawyer to fight for custody. And Liam and Mia hate him right now.”

“They hate you, too.”

“I don’t care who they hate. They aren’t my problem anymore.”

“Heartless,” he murmured, though his tone sounded entirely like praise.

“Practical,” I corrected.

A sudden tremor shot through my left hand. The glass rattled loudly against my wedding ring—the one I hadn’t yet bothered to take off.

I frowned, gripping the tumbler tighter. The adrenaline crash hit me violently. Fifteen years of marriage, two ungrateful children, a fake life—all of it severed in seventy-two hours.

“Sit down, Clara,” Sebastian instructed.

“I’m fine.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

“It’s just the cold.”

“It’s the aftermath,” he countered, stepping closer. “You severed a diseased limb. The phantom pain always follows.”

I took another erratic gulp of whiskey. A drop escaped the corner of my mouth.

“I don’t feel pain,” I argued. “I feel completely empty.”

“Empty is a clean slate. We can work with that.”

Sebastian crossed the remaining distance between us. He didn’t ask for permission. His large hand wrapped around the crystal tumbler, prying it from my white-knuckled grip.

He set the glass on the side table with a sharp clink.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

“I am looking.”

“No, you’re staring at my tie.”

His fingers caught my jaw. The grip held firm, unyielding. He forced my head up, making me meet his gaze.

The polite, professional distance he maintained in the boardroom had completely vanished. A dark, predatory hunger replaced it. He looked at me the way a starving man looks at a feast.

“You won,” Sebastian whispered, his thumb pressing lightly against my chin. “Stop acting like you lost.”

“I just blew up my entire existence.”

“You blew up a cage.”

His thumb moved upward. He dragged the pad of his finger across my bottom lip, catching the stray drop of liquor. The motion stretched out, consuming the quiet air in the room. Heat flared in my stomach, instantly wiping out the numbness.

My pulse hammered against my throat. Logic screamed at me to step back. I had just escaped one controlling man.

But this didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like an absolute, secure anchor.

“You enjoyed watching him break,” Sebastian observed, his voice dropping an octave.

“He deserved it.”

“I didn’t ask if he deserved it. I asked if you liked it.”

I stared into his dark eyes. A strange, twisted smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Laughter bubbled up in my chest—a sharp, ragged sound that belonged nowhere near a divorce proceeding.

“Yes,” I admitted. “I loved it.”

“Good.” Sebastian leaned in. His mouth hovered inches from mine. The scent of cedar and whiskey wrapped around me, suffocating every rational thought. “You belong at the top of the food chain. Don’t ever apologize for having teeth.”

“I don’t plan to.”

“Take off the ring, Clara.”

“What?”

“The ring,” he repeated, his gaze shifting to my left hand. “Take it off. Put it on the table.”

I looked down at the diamond Julian bought me ten years ago. Without breaking eye contact with Sebastian, I slid the metal over my knuckle and dropped it onto the glass table.

“Better,” Sebastian murmured.

I opened my mouth to reply. The space between us completely disappeared.

A sharp buzzer shattered the silence.

Sebastian froze. His jaw locked.

The intercom chimed again, loud and insistent.

“Ignore it,” he ordered, his gaze dropping back to my lips.

“It might be the building security.”

Sebastian cursed under his breath. He released my chin and turned toward the security panel mounted on the wall.

“No one gets up here without clearance,” he said, tapping the digital screen.

The lobby feed flickered to life.

My stomach plummeted.

Liam stood in front of the camera. Rain plastered his hair to his skull. A jagged, bleeding gash split his forehead open, sending thick red streams down his face and soaking his ruined graphic hoodie. He leaned heavily against the brass intercom panel, barely able to stand.

“Mom,” Liam croaked into the speaker, his voice shaking with raw terror. “Please. They’re going to kill me.”