Derek stood in the middle of the nearly empty apartment, clutching the police report so tightly that the paper crumpled beneath his fingers.
For the first time since Skylar had known him, he looked small.
Not remorseful. Not frightened by what he had done to her.
He was frightened by what it might cost him.
Suzanne hovered near the dining table, staring at the wedding ring beside the copy of the report. The gold band caught the fading evening light, gleaming like a warning neither of them had expected.
“What is this supposed to mean?” Suzanne asked.
Derek read the report again, his eyes moving rapidly across the descriptions of Skylar’s injuries, the hospital photographs, and the statement she had given to the police.
“She’s trying to scare me,” he muttered.
Suzanne folded her arms.
“Well, it’s working.”
Derek shot her a murderous glare.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything. You said she would calm down.”
“She always calms down.”
But even as he said it, his gaze drifted across the apartment.
The shelves were bare where Skylar’s books had once stood. Her laptop was gone. The framed photograph from their wedding had disappeared from the wall, leaving a pale rectangle behind.
The antique jewelry box her grandmother had given her was missing from the bedroom.
Even the expensive coffee machine was gone.
Suzanne opened one kitchen cabinet after another, her annoyance growing.
“She took the blue plates.”
Derek spun toward her.
“My entire life is falling apart, and you’re worried about plates?”
“They were imported.”
“They belonged to her.”
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Silence followed.
Suzanne stared at him.
Derek stared back.
The truth of the apartment suddenly settled around them. Almost everything inside had belonged to Skylar before the marriage.
The furniture had been purchased with her salary. The appliances were charged to her accounts. The deed was in her name alone.
Derek had spent years behaving like a king in a kingdom he had never built.
Now the queen had removed the throne.
His phone rang.
He glanced at the screen and straightened when he saw the name of his regional director at the insurance company.
“Hello, Mr. Vance.”
“Derek,” the man said, his voice clipped and formal. “I need to ask you something directly. Were you involved in a domestic incident this morning?”
Derek’s eyes flicked toward Suzanne.
“There was an argument between my wife and me. She became emotional.”
“Did you throw hot coffee at her?”
“It was an accident.”
The lie came easily.
It always had.
On the other end of the line, Mr. Vance was silent for several seconds.
“We received a copy of a police complaint. It states that the act was deliberate.”
“My wife is angry. She’s trying to destroy me.”
“You are a licensed insurance representative with access to private client information. Allegations of violence and financial coercion are serious. Effective immediately, you are suspended pending an internal review.”
Derek’s face drained of color.
“You can’t suspend me over a private disagreement.”
“We can suspend you over conduct that may violate company policy and licensing standards.”
“I have clients waiting.”
“They have already been reassigned.”
The call ended before Derek could respond.
He lowered the phone slowly.
Suzanne’s expression shifted from irritation to alarm.
“What happened?”
“He suspended me.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“You told me your commission was coming Friday.”
Derek looked at her as if he had never seen her clearly before.
“My career may be over, and all you care about is my commission?”
Suzanne’s mouth tightened.
“I have bills.”
“You always have bills.”
“And you always said you would handle them.”
Before Derek could answer, the phone rang again.
This time, it was the building manager.
“Mr. Hale,” the manager said, “I’m calling regarding your occupancy.”
“My occupancy?”
“Ms. Bennett has submitted proof that she is the sole legal owner of the apartment. She has revoked your authorization to access the property after the statutory notice period. You will receive formal documents tomorrow.”
Derek’s breathing grew shallow.
“What notice period?”
“You have seventy-two hours to remove your personal belongings.”
“This is my marital home.”
“That is something you may discuss with your attorney. Until then, please comply with the notice.”
Derek hurled the phone across the room.
It struck the wall and shattered.
Suzanne jumped.
For one brief second, fear crossed her face.
Derek noticed.
“What?” he demanded.
“Nothing.”
“You think I’m dangerous now?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Suzanne grabbed her purse from the counter.
“Where are you going?” Derek asked.
“Home.”
“You’re leaving me here?”
“I don’t want to be involved when the police come back.”
Derek stepped between her and the door.
“This started because of you.”
Her face hardened.
“No. It started because you threw boiling coffee at your wife.”
“You told me you needed the card.”
“I asked you to persuade her.”
“You knew what persuasion meant.”
Suzanne looked away.
That tiny movement revealed more than a confession.
It revealed history.
There had been other arguments, other threats, and other nights when Suzanne had called Derek and complained that Skylar was selfish.
She had known how her brother spoke to his wife.
She had heard him threaten to throw Skylar out, even though the apartment belonged to Skylar.
She had never objected.
As long as the money kept coming, Suzanne had considered cruelty a private family matter.
“Move,” she said.
Derek did not.
Suzanne’s hand tightened around her purse strap.
Then someone knocked on the door.
Three firm knocks.
Derek froze.
“Police,” a voice called from the hallway.
Suzanne’s face went pale.
Derek stepped away from the door as if distance could erase his presence.
The knock came again.
When he finally opened it, two officers stood outside. One of them was the same officer who had accompanied Skylar earlier.
“Derek Hale?”
“Yes.”
“You have been served with a temporary protective order. You are not to contact Skylar Bennett directly or indirectly. You may not visit her workplace, hotel, or any location where you know she is staying.”
Derek laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“She’s my wife.”
“The order still applies.”
“She stole everything.”
“The property dispute is a civil matter. The protective order is not.”
The officer handed him the documents.
“If you violate these conditions, you may be arrested.”
Derek glanced at Suzanne, who had backed into the hallway.
The officer turned toward her.
“Are you Suzanne Hale?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“You are also prohibited from contacting Ms. Bennett on Mr. Hale’s behalf.”
Suzanne swallowed.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
The officer’s gaze lingered on her as if he did not believe her.
Neither did Derek.
Across Miami, Skylar sat in a quiet hotel room overlooking Biscayne Bay.
The pain medication made her body feel heavy, but sleep refused to come.
Her cheek was covered with a medical dressing. Beneath it, the skin burned with every small movement.
The doctor had told her the injury would likely heal, although discoloration might remain for months.
The physical pain was sharp.
The emotional pain was stranger.
It came in waves.
One moment, she felt powerful for leaving.
The next, she felt ashamed that she had stayed for so long.
She kept remembering Derek’s face before he threw the coffee.
There had been no loss of control, no wild confusion, and no instant regret.
He had looked directly at her.
He had made a decision.
A soft knock sounded.
Skylar stiffened.
The social worker from the hospital had warned her not to open the door without checking.
She approached carefully and looked through the peephole.
A woman in a navy suit stood outside.
Skylar recognized her as Elena Ruiz, the attorney recommended by the social worker.
Skylar opened the door.
Elena entered carrying a leather briefcase and a paper bag.
“I brought soup,” she said. “Hospital food is an insult to injured people.”
Despite everything, Skylar smiled faintly.
They sat at the small table near the window.
Elena opened her briefcase and arranged the documents Skylar had emailed earlier: bank statements, property records, screenshots of messages, photographs of the burn, and transfer confirmations.
“You preserved more evidence than most clients do,” Elena said.
“I didn’t know I was collecting evidence.”
“You were.”
Skylar stared down at the messages.
Some were from Derek.
Give Suzanne the money.
Stop embarrassing me.
You live comfortably because of me.
Don’t make me teach you how a wife should behave.
Others were from Suzanne.
Family helps family.
Derek said you agreed.
Don’t be selfish.
I’ll pay you back next month.