The Intern Sat Beside Him, So I Took Everything in the Divorce Chapter 02

The Intern Sat Beside Him, So I Took Everything in the Divorce Chapter 02

I got home just before eleven.

I sank into the couch, and Trevor came in not long after.

“What are you doing sitting here alone?”

“Waiting for you.”

He unbuttoned his cuffs and walked over, his voice carrying a raw edge.

“You took it way too far tonight. She’s just a kid, no clue about anything. Was that really necessary?”

“She doesn’t know better. Do you?”

I looked at him and slowly swung my legs off the sofa.

“Trevor, you know exactly who I am.”

“Of course I do.” He yanked at his tie, his voice rising. “You’re a control freak. An intern rides in my car once, and you blow up like this. What do you think people will say?”

“You think I care what people say?”

He paused.

“I have to take people along for work. I gave her a ride—what’s the big deal?”

“A ride?” I smiled. “Our place is all standalone estates. Everyone knows everyone around here. Trevor, what route exactly were you taking?”

His face darkened. He was quiet for a long moment.

Finally, in a low voice, he said, “I’ll handle the car tomorrow. But the thing about her … can’t you ease up? She just graduated.”

“I don’t take back what I say.”

“Scarlett!”

“If you’re that torn up about it,” I cut in, standing and heading for the bedroom, “go comfort her now. Walk out that door, and don’t bother coming back.”

The silence behind me stretched on.

…

The next morning, I found a vehicle disposal receipt on the coffee table, along with a copy of the termination paperwork.

The signature line had Trevor’s handwriting.

I picked it up, glanced at it, and put it down. At least he wasn’t dumb enough to openly defy me.

Natalie’s voice message came through—short.

“Ms. Hayes, Mirabel’s termination is processed—Trevor signed off on it. But she camped out at reception crying for a good half hour, and she left with this: ‘Scarlett Hayes is going to regret this one day.'”

I typed back: [Noted.]

I’ve heard that kind of talk before. Not one of them ever made me regret a thing.

I’m not someone who likes to destroy people for no reason.

But I have one flaw—the more someone tries to play hard with me, the more I make sure they learn that I’m never the one who ends up sorry.

At lunch, Trevor texted: [Car’s done. She’s gone. Happy now?]

I tapped back: [We’ll see.]

He didn’t reply.

For a while, things seemed to settle.

…

But a month in, I noticed something off.

Trevor had been too quiet. Too well-behaved. That wasn’t like him.

That night, lying in bed, I scrolled through the project records he’d handled over the past six months. A new supplier name jumped out—someone I didn’t recognize. I screenshotted it and sent it to Natalie.

“Who’s this company?”

She got back to me three minutes later with a long reply, but only one line mattered:

“Ms. Hayes, let me dig deeper. The registered agent looks suspicious.”

I stared at that company name for a while, then put my phone face-down on the pillow.

Before sleeping, I texted Trevor: [Breakfast tomorrow.]

He answered fast: [Okay.]

I locked the screen and muttered, “Yeah, okay. You’d better be”