Avery's Point of View
The tip of the pen hovered over the white paper.
My reflection in the glass table looked hollow—eyes red-rimmed, lips pale, posture rigid. Rhett stood beside me like a mountain, his chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths. He didn't rush me. He didn't need to. He knew I had no cards left to play.
With a unsteady hand, I pressed the ink into the dotted line and signed my name.
Dr. Avery Sinclair.
The ink dried almost instantly, setting my fate in stone. I set the pen down with a quiet click and slid the folder toward him. "There. You have what you want."
Rhett picked up the folder, verified the signature with a quick, clinical glance, and closed it. "My lawyer will file the temporary order with the family court by noon. Your copy will be delivered to your
