Rebecca set her pen down and focused her attention on Daphne. “Mrs. Ames, I’m sure your counsel has warned you that if this goes to court, you’re going to risk losing more than you will
if we can come to an agreement here. Texas allows fault to be shown in divorce. We have proof of your affair. These details will be brought out in court.”
Daphne wet her lips and her throat worked.
Rebecca cocked a brow in a way that she hoped conveyed, Yes, all those dirty details you’re replaying in your head right now? That will be displayed in court. And no one is going to side with you after that because no one likes a cheater.
Rebecca had watched the incriminating video with Anthony at her side since he’d wanted to see the whole thing but didn’t want to do it alone. Daphne had forgotten about the security cameras her husband had installed outside by their pool, and she’d put on quite an X-rated show with the contractor one night when Anthony had been out of town. The explicitness of the video had made Rebecca feel equal parts uncomfortable and fascinated. She’d definitely never had that kind of intense sex. She’d never had the urge to literally rip someone’s clothes off to get to them. Frankly, she hadn’t realized people actually did that outside of movies. She couldn’t fathom being that…feral with anyone.
But seeing it had made Anthony vomit, and that was when Rebecca had understood the real story.
The man had truly loved his wife, and his world had just been ripped in half. He’d thought he was in one kind of movie and had wound up in another. He wasn’t the hero. He was the fool. He’d ended up in the wrong third of the statistics.
So Rebecca had no qualms about taking Daphne down. Cheaters deserved what they got. And too bad for Daphne, they were Rebecca’s specialty.
“You’re trying to scare me,” Daphne said finally.
Rebecca leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, relishing that calm, cool control that filled her veins in these situations. “I’m simply stating the facts, Mrs. Ames. Ask your lawyer if he thinks I’m exaggerating. If we go to court, you will be deemed at fault and the settlement will definitely reflect that.”
Raul folded his hands and rested them on the table, his own poker face in place. “We’re prepared to go to court if necessary. My client will not bend on the house.”
“Mr. Ames, what would it take to compromise on the house?” the mediator asked. “If there’s nothing, then we should just move this to court.”
Anthony settled back in his chair, arms crossed casually, expression smugly confident. Rebecca wanted to cheer. The game had finally clicked for him. He was playing his part. He shrugged. “Sounds like I’d be better off going to court. That way I’ll get the house, the ridiculous dolls, the better car, and my dog. You’ll end up back home with your parents. You can call Eric and have him remodel your parents’ crappy seventies ranch to make your room real nice.”
Daphne’s jaw flexed, and Raul put a hand on her wrist as if sensing what was about to happen, but it was too late. She was already talking. “Fine. Take the stupid dog! I know that’s what you’re after. He’s a filthy, dumb waste of space anyway.”
Prince Hairy lifted his head beneath the table and whimpered, as if he recognized the description and took offense.
Daphne waved a dismissive hand. “Take him and whatever else of your junk you want. Just give me the house, my furniture, and my car. Then, you never have to see me again. I’m done with this crap.”
Rebecca gave a Mona Lisa smile.
Anthony’s chair squeaked as he leaned forward, victory all over his face. “You’ve got a deal.”
Raul closed his eyes and shook his head.
But the mediator pressed her hands together in a silent clap. “Fantastic. Well done. I’m so glad you two could make this work. The agreement will be drafted up, and we’ll be finished with all of this.”
Another love story ended with a signature on a dotted line.
Daphne grabbed her purse and stood, her chair rolling behind her and banging against the wall. “You’re such a smug asshole, thinking you’re so much better than me. If you wouldn’t have treated me—”
“That’s enough, Mrs. Ames,” Rebecca said. “You’ve said your piece.”
Her attention swung Rebecca’s way. “And I don’t care that you’re some famous survivor or whatever. You’re a stuck-up, know-it-all bitch!”
“Daphne—” Raul warned.
But Rebecca held on to her polite smile, the words rolling off her like water on a windshield. Let Daphne have her tantrum. People had all kinds of preconceived notions about Rebecca when they figured out she was the Rebecca Lindt who’d survived the Long Acre High School prom shooting—that crying redheaded girl who was rolled out bleeding on a stretcher on the nightly news twelve years ago. The notions strangers got of her often involved shining light and singing angels, or like she had some secret sauce recipe on how to live a meaningful life. But she had news for them. Surviving a tragedy didn’t make you magical. It made you tough. Not special. Just lucky. “Have a nice day, Mrs. Ames.”
Daphne made a disgusted noise and flounced out the door without a goodbye. Her emotional companion didn’t even lift his head.
Raul stood. “Sorry about that. She’s just…processing all this.”
Rebecca smirked. “That’s one term for it. But no worries, I’ve been called worse. Probably by you on some days.”
He chuckled as he slipped his things into his briefcase. “Only when I lose. And only respectfully.”