Raf
For months, she swore she wouldn’t become the bitter ex-wife. She’s repeated it like a mantra: Let the facts speak. Take the high road.
That was easier when he was just a name on paperwork. A voice relayed through lawyers. But now, across the conference table, all that restraint feels absurd.
Ethan’s lounging like he’s early for lunch in Malibu, tan and smug, as if this is all some amusing detour. Sixty-three years old and still clinging to the version of himself he sold in his twenties. Raf hears his laugh spill across the room as he greets the arbitration chair, Judge Arguello. She hates how easily he does it. Worse, she hates that the charm still works.
She knows Ethan didn’t leak the photos. Still, it could have been Ethan. That’s the part she can’t let go. She tries to summon relief, to tell herself it matters that he didn’t cross that line. That Alexander was the true monster—not the man who helped raise her children, not the one sitting across from her now. Because if he had, if Ethan had gone that far, it would’ve shattered everything.
So she tells herself a story: that Ethan is still the man she once thought she wanted. Maybe even loved. A version of him, at least—the one who helped build a life, who fathered her children, who offered something that looked enough like stability.
Was it ever really love? Maybe. But if she’s honest, he mostly just loved himself.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Let them talk. We’ll respond when it matters,” Jennifer says, her voice steady at Raf’s side.
Across the table, Judge Arguello clears her throat. She’s compact, immaculately still, with a face that gives nothing and eyes that catch everything.
Ethan’s lawyer, Mitchell Garland, hasn’t changed. Sleek, unreadable, coiled just beneath the surface. He’s flanked by two juniors and a paralegal already typing on their tablets.
“We’d like to begin by establishing a timeline of parental involvement,” Garland declares. A PowerPoint flashes onto the screen behind him as he clicks a remote. “We’ve compiled several concerns that speak to Ms. Simonetti’s judgment.”
Raf doesn’t move, but her shoulders tighten as Garland continues.
“To be clear, these aren’t accusations. Just patterns. Take May of last year. Ms. Simonetti allegedly left her children unattended at the Larchmont Collection while she explored a private dressing area… with a companion.”
“That’s mischaracterized,” Jennifer corrects, voice flat and precise. “There were staff present, and my client was never more than a few feet away. That’s documented.”
“There’s also the incident in Malibu. Ms. Simonetti’s daughter, unaccompanied in the surf. Photos suggest a prolonged absence of adult supervision.”
“That image was taken out of context.”
Garland barely glances at Jennifer, keeps barreling on, while next to him, Ethan leans back like all of this is beneath him, like Mitchell Garland didn’t come to challenge, but to sweep up the debris.
Raf keeps circling back to the slashed tires on Jennifer’s car. Was it a message from Ethan’s side? Or Alexander again, operating in shadow? She doesn’t know. Everyone’s a suspect.
I just want this to end. I just want to feel normal again. But she doesn’t know if that’s possible. Because even after the final battle, when the dust finally settles, the damage will keep echoing, long after the fighting stops.