Today's goal: 200 PS> 1 bonus chapter.
400 PS> 3 bonus chapters.
---
AN: I wanted to add the divorce settlement part in this chapter, but wanted to show Judith's side too. I remember how Alan fell for that trick so many times. Next chapter, the divorce part will be over.
---
Judith sat across from her attorney in a cold, glass-walled conference room that smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and ink. Her manicure-perfect fingers clenched around a double-shot macchiato, untouched.
"Say that again," Judith said, her voice tight.
Her lawyer, a silver-haired woman named Marla Quinn, slid the heavy legal packet across the table. "Alan is suing you for fraud, misrepresentation, duress, extortion, undue influence, and about six other things that would make a Netflix docuseries."
Judith stared blankly at the papers. "Alan? Alan Harper? The man who needed two weeks to pick a cereal brand?"
Marla didn't blink. "Alan Harper. Represented by Irina Denvers."
Judith's mouth opened. No sound came out.
"Yes, that Irina Denvers," Marla added. "And no, this isn't some joke or bluff. The documents are real. Her reputation checks out. She's undefeated, and I've already had two colleagues call me in a panic just hearing her name on the docket."
Judith flipped through the packet: Photos, transcripts, mail printouts, hidden camera stills, bank records, and a couple of other documents. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What the hell is this?"
"Evidence. Loads of it. And more she's not showing yet. If you don't drop alimony, custody claims, and give back every asset you pressured him into signing over, she's going to come after you with all those cases, after me for sabotaging a client, and drag this whole thing out for five to seven years. You might even face jail time and fines."
Judith laughed, but it was shaky and wrong. "He wouldn't… he couldn't..."
"Well, he didn't. She did," Marla said. "Your ex-husband apparently got tired of being your doormat and hired a shark in heels. You corner a rat, and it'll fight back."
Judith stood up suddenly, pacing in circles, gripping her temples. "No. No. Alan's spineless. He's weak. He's... pathetic."
Marla shrugged. "Maybe. But he made one smart move. One very expensive, very lethal move. If Irina Denvers is involved, we're not dealing with Alan anymore. We're dealing with someone who knows exactly where to cut you, and how deep."
Silence.
Judith sat back down, pale and hollow-eyed.
"What do we do?" she asked.
Marla leaned forward. "We talk options. Fast. And we consider seriously whether money is worth this war. Because if you don't settle, Irina's going to start dropping bombs. And I don't know about you, but I'd like to keep my license."
Judith didn't respond. She just stared down at the mountain of evidence, the image of Irina's cold signature at the bottom of every page like a dagger in her pride.
Marla reached into her briefcase and pulled out a second folder, slimmer but stamped with a red tab marked "Exhibit B."
"There's more," she said, laying it down gently. "Like I said, she's playing us in circles. She jogged up too many cases for our firm to handle. This came in twenty minutes ago. It's not just you. Irina served him too."
Judith narrowed her eyes. "Herb?"
Marla opened the folder and turned it so Judith could see. "Irina filed a joint claim implicating both of you. Fraud, collusion, asset misappropriation, and misconduct in divorce proceedings. She's alleging that you and Herb manipulated Alan while he was emotionally compromised."
Judith's jaw clenched. "That's absurd. Alan's a grown man."
"Who, according to Irina, was heavily medicated, grieving the loss of a close friend, and drinking heavily when he signed over the house," Marla said. "And the fact that Herb moved in less than a week after the divorce was filed? That doesn't help you. It makes you look coordinated. Predatory."
Judith leaned forward, eyes scanning the file. "Wait! What the hell does she mean Herb posed as Jake's pediatrician? He didn't pose, he..."
"He signed medical forms. Irina got them. He signed off on school immunization releases as 'Dr. Herbert Melnick, attending pediatrician' for Jake Harper. While he was still legally married to your patient. Which was Alan. It's murky, and she's going to make it look like a con job."
Judith looked nauseous. "He was just trying to help..."
"No one's going to believe that now. You moved him into Alan's house days after filing. That house Alan signed over while intoxicated. You didn't wait, you didn't ask, and Irina has timestamps on real estate transfers, call logs, security footage, and even a bottle of Ambien with Alan's name on it that was prescribed two days before he 'willingly' gave you the deed."
Judith sat back, hands trembling.
Marla didn't stop. "She's also submitting a timeline that paints you and Herb as orchestrating the entire setup. Playing on Alan's weaknesses, isolating him from Jake, and taking advantage of his grief and financial dependency."
Judith's voice cracked. "What can we do?"
Marla didn't sugarcoat it. "You give the house back. You give up alimony. You drop the custody claim. You apologize in writing. And you pray Irina doesn't go for the full kill. Because if she does… we're talking license reviews, criminal charges, and full-blown media exposure."
Judith looked like she'd been hit by a truck. Her eyes darted from the files to the window, to the coffee she still hadn't touched.
"This isn't just a divorce anymore," Marla said. "It's a war. And we're losing."
Judith closed the folder with shaking fingers.
"I need to call Herb," she said.
Marla folded her arms. "Do it fast. We have till tomorrow 10 AM."
[1 hour later] [Judith's house]
Judith slammed the door to her house, the heel of her Louboutin catching slightly on the rug as she stormed in. Her breath came in sharp, shallow bursts. She was dialing Herb again. Straight to voicemail. Again.
She tossed her phone onto the kitchen island and went down the hallway, flinging open the bedroom door.
His drawers were open. Empty.
His closet was half full yesterday. Now? Just hangers swinging like bones.
The cologne bottle he always overused? Gone. His toothbrush? Gone. Even the damn succulent he named "Little Herbie"? Gone.
Judith stepped back, her heart racing. Something lay on the bed: a single piece of paper, folded once. She opened it.
*The sex was good, but I don't want to lose my license and properties. Sorry, Judith. Irina made me an offer and I'm taking it.*
No signature. Just the crisp, smug finality of a man who left early to beat the traffic.
She stood there in stunned silence. A low, strangled sound escaped her throat: part laugh, part sob, part something too twisted to name.
Herb was gone. He'd turned tail the second real consequences showed up. All that talk about love, partnership, starting fresh... Well, it folded like wet cardboard under the weight of Irina Denvers.
Judith sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the note like it might turn into something else if she held it long enough. "That bastard," She grumbled in anger. After everything she maneuvered, schemed, risked, and squeezed out of Alan, just to start a new life with a new man to squeeze, it fell apart.
And Irina? Irina saw it all coming. Knew exactly where to push.
Judith stood again, moving slowly now. She walked to the full-length mirror, stared at her own reflection. The expensive blouse. The flawless makeup. The icy confidence she'd weaponized for years.
It was all cracked now.
She smoothed her hair, steadied her hands.
This wasn't over. Not yet. But she'd been hit. Hard.
And this time, she wasn't the one in control.
She picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen. She wasn't calling Herb; she was calling Alan. A little sweet talk might make him let his guard down, and then she could invite him over for sex. Knowing Alan, he'd likely fall right into her honeytrap. After that, she'd try to patch things up. Right now, things ain't looking good for her manipulative ass. At this rate, she'll become homeless.
...
[Back at Charlie's house]
Alan sipped his beer slowly, elbows resting on the balcony railing. It was his second can, no, third, but who was counting? For once, he'd bought it himself. Paid in cash. Felt kind of empowering, like he had a spine or something.
Below, a group of college-age girls played beach volleyball, all tanned limbs and laughter. Alan watched with mild interest, not in a creepy way, more like a man quietly mourning his youth and libido. At least, that's what he told himself.
His phone buzzed on the table behind him.
He glanced at the screen.
Judith.
Of course.
He took another slow pull from the can, letting it foam just a bit too long on his tongue. He stared at the name like it might vanish if he blinked hard enough. But it didn't.
He answered.
"Hello?" he said, voice calm, maybe even a little smug.
There was a soft sob on the other end. Then Judith's voice came through a bit shaken. "Herb left me," she said, broken, dragging out every syllable like it hurt. "He… he cleaned out his side of the closet. Took everything. I found a note on the bed, Alan. A note."
Alan's grip tightened around the can. He wasn't sure if it was satisfaction or sympathy building in his chest, but it was building fast.
"That's… rough," he said, trying to sound neutral but already grinning like a fool.
"I don't know what to do anymore," she whispered. "Everything's falling apart. Herb's gone. You're suing me. Jake barely speaks to me. I feel like I'm drowning."
Alan's voice softened. "Judith, I..."
"I know I made mistakes," she said, fast now, her voice breaking in all the right places. "I trusted the wrong man. I pushed you away. I let everything we built just… rot. And it's my fault, Alan. All of it. I see that now."
He blinked, staring out at the ocean. His beer was forgotten.
"I just…" she continued, "I don't want to fight anymore. I was so blinded that I made so many mistakes. But I want to make it right. We were partners once. You were always kind. Always steady. I should've seen it. I was blind."
Alan swallowed hard. He was having a second thought.
"I miss you," she said softly, her voice trembling. "Not in a 'let's get married again' way. I just… I miss us being able to talk, to laugh, to not be enemies."
Alan grinned like an idiot. "Really? You mean that?"
"I do," she said, gently. "Maybe we could have dinner. Just talk. Privately. Just you and me. I want to apologize. I want to make things right. For Jake. For us."
Alan let out a tiny, nervous laugh. "Dinner sounds… yeah. Yeah, okay. That actually sounds kind of..."
Suddenly, Charlie snatched the phone right out of Alan's hand.
"What the hell?!" Alan said, turning around, half-panicked, half-embarrassed.
"You buffoon," Charlie disconnected the call. "She's playing with you and you horndog were about to fall right into her trap."
"No... What? We were about to patch things up and..." Alan tried to argue.
Charlie put the phone on the table.
"Alan," he said, slowly and clearly, "you were seconds away from getting honeytrapped by the woman who tried to financially gut you, stole your house, and turned your kid against you. And now that her boy-toy skipped town and Irina's dropped the legal hammer, suddenly she wants to have dinner?"
Alan blinked, struggling to catch up.
"She sounded sincere. She cried, man. Judith doesn't cry."
"Yeah, well, crocodiles do. Doesn't mean they won't rip your arm off right after." Charlie leaned in, eyes sharp. "You remember that scene in every horror movie where the killer pretends to be dead so the idiot walks over and gets stabbed? That's you right now. You're the idiot."
Alan opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed and sat down heavily.
"I just... I don't know. It felt like maybe she finally saw the damage she did. Like maybe..."
"...like maybe you could fix her? No. That ship sailed, got torpedoed, and sank while you were still polishing the deck."
Charlie grabbed another beer, tossed it to Alan, then cracked one for himself.
"Listen, Alan. You're finally fighting back. I went all my way and took the risk and found you a real attorney who also happens to be my ex. You've got the upper hand for once in your sad, passive, spine-deficient life. Do not let guilt, nostalgia, or whatever leftover Stockholm Syndrome you've got lure you into her Venus flytrap."
Alan looked down at the unopened can.
"You think she was trying to seduce me?"
Charlie nodded slowly.
"With dinner? Definitely. Next step: wine, flash a little cleavage, tell you how 'lonely' she's been, maybe cry again. And boom, next morning you're in bed next to her, the lawsuit mysteriously vanished, and all your progress down the drain. Then after a couple of months, maybe a year... You'll be right at my doorsteps, on your knees, begging me to let you in."
Alan rubbed his temples. "God. You think I'm that predictable?"
Charlie didn't answer. He just raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, yeah. Fine. I was considering it," Alan admitted. "But only because she sounded... human. Like the Judith I first fell for."
Charlie scoffed.
"The Judith you fell for was a performance. What you heard on the phone? That was the encore."
Alan was quiet for a moment, then nodded.
"I can't believe she's still trying to manipulate me after all this."
Charlie gave him a genuine, supportive look.
"Believe it. And be smarter than the last fifteen times. You're not a doormat anymore. You're a guy who's finally learning how to swing back. Keep swinging."
Alan exhaled slowly.
"Oh, and even after this long pep talk, you go back to her again behind my back and fuck things up, then come back to me begging to let you in, I'll kick your balls and sue your ass. So, be smart and wait till tomorrow. You can always find someone better than that bloodsucking witch," Charlie said and patted Alan's back before walking away.
---
[POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]
Support link: www.patr eon.com/UnknownMaster
[8 advance chs] [All chs available for all tiers] [No double billing.]