Chapter 4 - The Mistress and the Ultimatum
Derek stumbled out of the office building like a broken man at 11:45 a.m., clutching a single cardboard box containing his desk photo, a few pens, and a spare tie. The midday sun felt blinding, scorching the pavement beneath his Italian leather shoes.
His life was evaporating in real time. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he was a respected executive with a comfortable home and a wife who cooked him dinner. Now, he was unemployed, facing financial ruin, and staring down the barrel of a catastrophic divorce.
There was only one person left.
Chloe.
He pulled out his phone, his fingers shaking so badly he dropped it twice before hitting speed dial.
"Pick up, pick up, pick up," he muttered under his breath, pacing frantically beside a hot dog stand while pedestrians glared at him.
On the fourth ring, a sleepy, sultry voice answered. "Derek? Babe? It’s the middle of the workday. What’s wrong?"
"Chloe, I need to see you. Now," Derek blurted out, his voice cracking with panic. "Everything’s gone. Sienna found out. She’s divorcing me. And my partners... they just forced me out of the firm."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. The playful warmth vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, transactional edge that Derek had never heard before.
"What do you mean, you’re out of the firm?" Chloe demanded. "What about your shares? What about your payout?"
"They’re threatening to prosecute for the expenses we charged to the company," Derek groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, meet me at Le Jardin. Table in the back. We need to figure out our next move. Together."
A pause stretched across the phone line—heavy, calculating, and cold.
"Derek," Chloe said slowly, her voice devoid of any affection. "Let's be smart about this. You’re a liability right now. I have my own reputation to think about. Don't call me again."
Click.
The dial tone buzzed in his ear.
Derek stared at the screen in horror. "Chloe? Chloe!"
Dead. She had hung up on him. The woman he risked his marriage, his home, and his career for had discarded him the second the ship started sinking. A hollow, crushing despair settled deep into his bones. He was completely, utterly alone.
Desperation drove him forward. If he couldn't call her, he would find her. He flagged down a cab, threw his cardboard box into the back seat, and gave the driver the address of Chloe’s luxury high-rise apartment downtown.
During the ride, his phone buzzed incessantly in his pocket. It was an email notification from Holloway & Associates. He opened it with a trembling thumb.
It wasn't just a standard divorce filing. It was an emergency motion for asset freezing. Every bank account, every investment portfolio, every retirement fund, and even the equity in their family home had been legally locked down by court order as of 11:00 a.m.
He had zero dollars of accessible cash. His credit cards were tied to the frozen joint accounts. He couldn't even pay the taxi driver.
"Driver," Derek choked out, patting his pockets frantically. "Can you... can you wait a minute? My card is declining, let me call my bank—"
May you like
"No card, no ride, pal," the driver grunted, pulling over to the curb and unlocking the doors. "Get out."
Derek was unceremoniously dumped onto the sidewalk at the corner of 5th and Main, his cardboard box clutched to his chest like a shield against the indifferent city.
