The private room at Lenox Hill was quiet, smelling of lavender and antiseptic-Dr. Thorne's doing, no doubt.
Ayla sat on the edge of the bed, a fresh bandage on her forehead. Julian sat in the chair opposite her, still wearing his blood-spattered shirt. He hadn't let go of her hand for an hour.
"No fractures," Thorne said, checking the chart. "Mild concussion. Soft tissue damage. You'll be sore for weeks, Ayla."
"I'm fine," Ayla whispered.
Thorne looked at Julian. "I'll leave you two."
The door clicked shut.
Julian lifted Ayla's hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles. "I should have killed him."
"Then you'd be in jail," Ayla said. "And I'd be alone."
"I'm never leaving you alone again," he said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It looked old, creased.
"My team found this in his safe," Julian said. "Before they left."
Ayla unfolded it. It was the divorce decree. Signed by both of them. Dated three years ago.
"He said he burned it," she said, tracing her signature.
"He lied," Julian said. "He kept it as insurance. In case he wanted out early. But he never filed it."
"So I'm still married," Ayla said dully.
"No," Julian said. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. "That's the beauty of New York law. Or rather, the beauty of having expensive lawyers. Since the document was signed and notarized, it constitutes a binding contract of separation. We just filed it electronically ten minutes ago. With a timestamp that predates his claim on the trust."
Ayla blinked. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Julian said, leaning forward, "that legally, you've been divorced for three years. The trust fund clause required him to be 'happily married' continuously. He just lost forty million dollars. And since he committed fraud to keep you there... you're entitled to half of what he does have."
Ayla started to laugh. It hurt her ribs, but she couldn't stop. "He's broke?"
"He will be when I'm done with him," Julian promised.
"And my mother?"
"Already moved," Julian said. "She's at my private facility in Westchester. Dr. Evans has been fired. Real doctors are with her now. She's going to be okay, Ayla."
The weight that had been crushing Ayla for three years simply... vanished.
She looked at Julian. The bruises on his knuckles. The fierce intensity in his eyes.
"Why?" she asked again. "Why me?"
"Because," Julian said, standing up and cupping her face. "You're the only person who ever looked at me and didn't see a bank account. You saw a man. And you diagnosed him." He chuckled. "I liked that."
"I don't hate you," Ayla whispered.
"I know," he said. "You love me. You just don't know it yet."
He kissed her, gentle this time. Careful.
"Get some sleep," he said. "Tomorrow, we go home."
"To the estate?"
"No," he said. "To my home. The Hamptons house. It's quieter there."
