Niamh had never witnessed a scene like this before. She drew a silent, steadying breath and stepped into the conference room.
Jonathan was already seated, his legal team lined up behind him, none of them daring to sit.
“Miss Rivers, this is the divorce agreement Mr. Thomas has prepared for you.”
Barrister Lockwood, the head of Jonathan’s legal team, slid a document across the table to Niamh.
Calling it “a document” was generous–it was a thick stack, far heftier than the one Sprague had prepared for her before.
A heavy sense of dread settled in Niamh’s stomach.
Frowning, she picked up the stack and began to read carefully, word by word.
The room was utterly silent.
Niamh read for a long time. Jonathan, perfectly patient, waited across from her, that charming smile of his frozen, unmoved.
Nearly an hour passed before Niamh finally finished reading.
“So?” Jonathan asked calmly, as soon as she set the papers down. “If there are no objections, go ahead and sign.”
But Niamh was in no state to be calm.
Her face was ashen, jaw clenched, fury burning in her eyes as she glared at
Jonathan.
He had agreed to the divorce. His signature was already on the agreement.
But according to its terms, Niamh was required to pay Jonathan three billion pounds in compensation.
She almost laughed at the absurdity.
She had already agreed to walk away with nothing, and still, Jonathan refused to let her go so easily.
Three billion! He wanted her to pay him three billion!
“Jonathan, are you kidding me?” Niamh snapped, grabbing the outrageously thick
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agreement and flinging it straight at his face.
A red mark bloomed on Jonathan’s handsome cheek.
At once, Barrister Lockwood stepped forward, voice cold and threatening: “Miss Rivers, if you assault my client in public, the compensation will only increase-”
Jonathan raised a hand, cutting him off.
Barrister Lockwood retreated without another word.
Despite their numbers, the Thomas family’s lawyers seemed to fade into the background, utterly insignificant compared to the pressure Jonathan himself radiated.
Niamh felt it more keenly than anything else.
“Niamh, you’re the one who asked for this divorce. Not me.” Jonathan’s voice was slow and smooth, carrying a chill like aged whiskey poured over ice.
“You’re the one who made the bet. Not me.”
As he spoke, he calmly pushed the divorce agreement back in front of her.
“I agreed. I kept my word. I’ve prepared exactly what you asked for. The terms are
reasonable, legitimate, and completely within the law. If you can’t accept them, that’s your problem–not mine.”
With that, Jonathan stood.
Barrister Lockwood moved to open the door for him.
Only once Jonathan had left did the rest of the legal team trickle out of the room, one by one, until Niamh was left alone.
-Alone–with the divorce agreement.
She had to admit it: she had been careless.
Or maybe she had just underestimated Jonathan.
Whether he was doing this simply to make her life difficult, or for some other reason entirely, one thing was crystal clear–Jonathan had no intention of letting
her go.
Or, to put it more accurately-
Jonathan had no intention of setting her free.
“Three billion…” Niamh whispered. For someone with assets barely in the millions,
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it might as well have been the GDP of a small country.
She clenched her jaw. Even if she added the prize money from the jewelry design competition, combined it with her latest commissions, and tossed in her winnings from the racing circuit, it still wouldn’t come close.
Closing her eyes, she felt as if she were drowning–helpless, suffocating, swallowed by the tide.
Was this really it?
Would she have to go and beg those two people for help?
