The doctor lowering her mask at my abortion consultation was my husband's sister—and hours later, I filed to divorce Chicago's most feared man.

Sophia sat at the polished conference table of *Aura Interior Architecture*, the design firm she had founded seven years ago in the West Loop. Sunlight poured through the industrial loft windows, illuminating blueprints for a multi-million-dollar boutique hotel in Miami.

"The contracts are secured," her lead project manager, Clara, said with a grin. "The client accepted our bid over three architectural giants. Sophia, this puts Aura in the top five design firms in the Midwest."

Sophia smiled, pressing a hand gently against her lower abdomen. "Good work, Clara. Let's finalize the vendor agreements by Friday."

When Clara left, Maya Collins pushed open the glass door, dropping a stack of legal documents onto the table.

"He received them," Maya said, taking a sip from her iced latte. "And by 'he,' I mean Luke Morgan practically paralyzed his legal department this morning."

Sophia’s expression remained composed. "Did he sign?"

"Are you kidding?" Maya scoffed gently. "His lead attorney called me fifteen minutes ago, sweating through his three-piece suit. Luke tore the settlement papers in half in front of his board of directors. He refuses to acknowledge the filing."

"He doesn't have a choice," Sophia said calmly, adjusting the lapels of her oversized cream blazer. "Illinois is a no-fault divorce state. He can delay it, but he can't stop it."

"Sophia, he's tearing Chicago apart looking for you," Maya warned, leaning in. "He sent private security to your old apartment, to your college friends, even to your favorite bakery in Lincoln Park. If he finds out you're operating out of this office—"

"This firm is registered under a blind trust, Maya. Luke never cared enough about my work to ask who owned Aura," Sophia said, a bitter edge in her voice. "He assumed I designed living rooms for suburban housewives as a hobby. Let him search. I am done hiding."

Just then, her phone on the desk vibrated with a private number. Sophia hesitated, then slid her thumb across the screen.

"Sophia."

Luke’s voice sounded hollow, stripped of all arrogance, broken and ragged.

Sophia closed her eyes, taking a steady breath to quell the sudden flutter in her chest. "Luke. You should be communicating through Maya."

"Don't do this," he begged, a sound so alien and foreign coming from Chicago’s untouchable billionaire that Sophia’s grip tightened on the phone. "Please. Just let me see you. Ten minutes. Tell me where you are."