My stomach bottoms out. “I don’t have that kind of cash. Nowhere near that. Even if I sold everything in this place, I couldn’t pay you that kind of cash.”

Paul leans in, his grin widening. “Ah, but your husband does, doesn’t he?”

The blood drains from my face. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? “Leave him out of this.” The words are barely a whisper.

“Why? Aren’t you the perfectly happy couple?” His voice drips with mockery. “Or maybe this shotgun wedding isn’t all it’s lived up to be. Should you save some of those divorce cookies he’s pitching for you for yourself?”

“I despise you with everything I have.”

“Thanks. I love that for you.” His sarcasm is like nails on a chalkboard.

“The other option for me is that I sell my story to the tabloids. Tell them how he pursued you and stole you out from under me. How he assaulted me, broke my car window in a jealous rage when you were going to get back with me. With his history, people would believe it.”

And so would the judge.

“You’re full of shit.”

“I know.” He holds a finger up. “How about the version where you’re just a slut who has slept around from rock star to rock star until you finally found one who’d take you. Desperate for the attention your own daddy never gave you. But the drugs are good and the lifestyle is fast so . . .”

My throat burns. “No one will believe you.”

But I know the truth. The public believes anything if the story is spun the right way. And I can’t bring the limelight onto Jase. Not now. Not when this is almost done.

Not when my heart already hurts enough.

“Quite the conundrum, huh?”

I take a breath, forcing the words past my clenched teeth. I could sell the wedding ring and the diamond necklace after the divorce. I could . . . I don’t fucking know because the thought of parting with Jase’s ring is like a knife to the chest. But I can’t let this all be for naught. I can’t let the asshole in my life ruin things for Jase. “I need time. I . . . I’ll figure out how to get you paid.”

Paul smirks. “Good girl.”

I’ve never hated a phrase more.

“I’ll make this work, on one condition.”

“What’s that?” he asks smugly.

Shivers chase over my skin as I step closer and load every ounce of vitriol I have in my voice. “My husband is to be left the fuck alone.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Gizmo

My chest hurts.

Sure, it’s hurt before—from a punch to the ribs or the burn of too much whiskey on an empty stomach—but this is different. Deeper. Searing.