Chapter 2 - The Fitting Room Humiliation
Two weeks before the trial, I took Leo to an upscale tailor in the financial district to be fitted for a custom suit. If we were going to court, we were going to look like royalty.
As the tailor was pinning Leo’s sleeves, the bell above the boutique door chimed. In walked Clara, holding a cup of artisan coffee, flanked by two of her sycophantic friends. She was shopping for her "post-divorce engagement" wardrobe.
She spotted me and let out a theatrical sigh.
"Elena, darling," Clara purred, walking over. "Shopping on Julian's credit card one last time? You really should start budgeting. Three hundred million sounds like a lot, but with a special-needs child, medical bills pile up."
Leo didn't look up. He was counting the threads on his suit cuff.
I stood up slowly, smoothing my skirt. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to.
"Clara," I smiled, a cold, predatory expression. "I'm not using Julian's credit card. I'm using mine. But speaking of money, I’d be careful about putting down deposits on wedding venues. The LLC Julian set up for you in the Caymans is currently being flagged by the IRS."
Clara’s smug smile instantly vanished. The color drained from her face, leaving her looking like a terrified ghost.
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"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, looking around nervously as her friends exchanged confused glances.
"You will," I whispered, stepping right into her personal space. "Enjoy the dress. It might be the last thing you wear before you trade it for an orange jumpsuit."
