Too Late, Ex-Husband: You Can't Afford Me

Jaycob's mind was a maelstrom of confusion and dawning horror. The man's words and Carlee's terror formed a puzzle he couldn't piece together, but every possibility was a nightmare. He grabbed Carlee's arm. It was ice-cold and trembling.

"Carlee? What is he talking about? Who is this man?"

"I don't know him!" she cried, her voice thin and reedy. She shook her head frantically, her eyes wide with a desperate, unconvincing denial. "He's a lunatic, Jaycob! He's trying to extort us!"

Leo chuckled. It was not a pleasant sound. It was low and mocking, full of a lazy confidence that made Jaycob's stomach clench.

"A lunatic, huh?" Leo drawled, reaching into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. He pulled out a sleek, modern smartphone. "You hear that, baby? I'm a lunatic now." He shook his head with mock sadness. "And here I thought we had something special. Cancún, remember? That little hotel by the beach? You said I was the best you'd ever had." He winked. "Course, you also said you were gonna leave your grandfather's money and run away with me. Guess that plan changed when you found yourself a shiny new lawyer boy, huh?"

Carlee's face went from white to a sickly, mottled crimson. "Shut up! Shut your mouth, you lying piece of trash!"

"Lying?" Leo's eyes gleamed. He turned to Jaycob, gesturing at Carlee with his thumb. "Hey, lawyer boy. You know she was pregnant, right? My kid. About eight months ago. She didn't tell you that part? Took a little 'spa weekend in the Hamptons' to take care of it. Ask her. Ask her about Dr. Petrov at the Eastside Clinic."

The air rushed out of Jaycob's lungs. He stumbled backward, his legs suddenly weak. He bumped hard against the conference table, the impact jarring his entire body. His face was a twisting, writhing mask of extreme humiliation. He had thrown away his loyal wife for a woman who was carrying another man's child. But as he looked at Carlee's furious, panicking face, a chilling realization hit him. He couldn't leave her. His entire future, his prestigious law firm position, and even his very life in Washington D.C. depended entirely on the Roman family. If he walked away now, the Romans would crush him like an ant. He had no choice but to swallow this massive, humiliating insult.

Jaycob forced a sickeningly obedient expression onto his pale face. He stepped forward and wrapped his arm protectively around Carlee, his voice trembling but desperate to please. "Shut up, you filthy blackmailer!" Jaycob yelled at Leo, playing the devoted fiancé despite the green hat firmly placed on his head. "I don't care about her past! Carlee is the love of my life, and I accept everything about her! The Roman family will make you pay for this slander!"

Leo burst into roaring laughter, clapping his hands. "Wow! Now that is a well-trained dog! You hear that, Genevieve? He is willing to swallow anything for a taste of the Roman fortune!"

Carlee, though relieved by Jaycob's pathetic submission, was still consumed by panic and fury. She spun on Genevieve, her face a mask of venomous hatred. "You!" she screamed, pointing a trembling finger. "You did this! You set me up, you vicious, scheming bitch! You couldn't keep your husband, so you had to destroy mine!"

Genevieve met her fury with an unnerving calm. She tapped her temple with a thoughtful finger. "I merely invited a guest to our divorce proceedings," she said, her tone mild. "I thought it was relevant. After all, it pertains to the future stability of my husband's next marriage."

The door burst open and a stern-looking woman in her fifties, with sharp eyes and a severe gray suit, rushed in. "Miss Roman, I heard shouting. Is everything alright?"

This was Mrs. Kowalski, Carlee's long-time assistant and family fixer. She moved swiftly to Carlee's side. "Miss Roman, be quiet," she commanded in a low, steely voice. Then, she turned to Leo, her expression all business. "Sir. You have a demand. State it."

Leo glanced at Genevieve. The stage was set. It was time for the final act.

She walked over to Jaycob. He looked utterly pathetic, clinging to Carlee like a parasite terrified of losing its host.

"Jaycob," she began, her voice crisp and clear. "Let's do the math."

"Three years of Yale Law School tuition: two hundred and ten thousand dollars. Living expenses, at two thousand a month for thirty-six months: seventy-two thousand dollars."

"Your father's funeral: fifteen thousand. The car you've been driving for the last six years, which is in my name: approximately twenty thousand."

"And the house. My parents' house. You lived there, rent-free, for five years. That's a conservative estimate of one hundred and eighty thousand dollars."

With every number she recited, Jaycob's face grew paler, until it was the color of chalk.

"Wait." Carlee's voice cut through the room, sharp and ugly. "You want compensation? For what? Being a wife? You weren't a wife, Genevieve. You were an ATM. Jaycob told me he never even touched you. Not once."

Jaycob nodded eagerly, desperate to agree with Carlee. "She's right! I never touched you! You mean nothing to me!"

Genevieve turned her calm gaze to Carlee. "Three years of marriage, and not a single night in the same bed. You think it's because I was desperate for his affection?"

She didn't wait for an answer. "Because three months before our wedding, Jaycob's father was diagnosed with terminal cancer. His dying wish was to see his son married. So I said yes. That was the only reason."

She paused. The room was utterly silent.

"The day after the wedding, Jaycob left for Yale. I stayed here, working two jobs to pay his tuition and his father's medical bills. I held his father's hand when he took his last breath. I paid for the funeral. And I stood at the graveside while my husband was three hundred miles away."

She turned back to Carlee. "So no, Miss Roman. I wasn't a desperate woman. I gave up my own doctoral program. I buried his father. And I did it all while he was building the future that you are now so eager to claim."

Genevieve took out her phone, opened the calculator app, and typed quickly. She turned the screen toward him. The final number glowed there, stark and unforgiving.

"So. You have two choices," she said softly. "Option one: your fiancée's little adventure and your pathetic acceptance of it become the front-page story of every gossip blog in the country by morning." Her eyes flickered to Carlee's horrified face. "Option two: you give me back what is mine. We sever all ties. And I walk away with my guest."

Jaycob stared at the screen. His hands were shaking. He looked at Carlee's tear-streaked, terrified face, and finally, into Genevieve's cool, green eyes.

The room began to spin. And he knew, with a sickening certainty, that Genevieve was not going to let him escape with a single penny of his dignity intact.