Chapter 6: Derek Comes to the Door
The injunction was filed by 9 p.m.
Grace's colleague — a sharp, unhurried man named Terrence who wore a Sunday sweater and spoke like he had all the time in the world — drafted the emergency motion in the hotel room while my father sat in the corner chair and didn't say a single unnecessary word.
That was how I knew he was frightened.
My father always went quiet when he was frightened.
By 10 p.m., we had moved to a different hotel.
Grace's idea.
*Derek knows the first location.
Don't give him the second one.*
By 11 p.m., I was sitting on the edge of a bed in a room that smelled like new linen, staring at the wall, when Paula knocked softly and came in.
"You should try to sleep," she said.
"I know."
She sat down in the chair by the window.
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
"How long did it take you?" I asked.
"Before you stopped feeling like it was your fault."
She thought about it honestly.
"Eight months.
And then some days it came back."
"Does it still?"
"Less," she said.
"Much less." She looked at her hands.
"The thing that helped me most wasn't the legal fight.
It was finding Donna.
Knowing I wasn't the only one.
Knowing I hadn't just been uniquely stupid."
"You weren't stupid," I said.
"Neither were you."
I lay back on the bed and looked at the ceiling.
Fourteen hours ago I had been standing in a church in a dress that had taken four months to choose.
I didn't cry.
I was surprised to find I still didn't want to.
The knock on the outer door came at 7:14 the next morning.
My father answered it.
I heard voices — his, low and controlled, and then another voice that made my stomach drop straight through the floor.
Derek.
I came out of the bedroom.
He was standing in the doorway of the suite, dressed in a fresh shirt, his hair neat, his expression arranged into something that was almost convincing as concern.
"Chloe." His voice was soft.
Careful.
"I just want to talk.
That's all.
Five minutes."
My father had not stepped aside.
He stood in the doorway with his hand on the frame.
"You need to leave," my father said.
"Sir, with respect, this is between me and my wife."
"She is my daughter."
"And she is my wife.
Legally.
And I think if we could all just—"
"Derek." I stepped forward so he could see me clearly.
"Don't."
His eyes moved to me.
Something shifted in them — a quick recalibration, the mask adjusting.
"Chloe, whatever Paula told you, she has an agenda.
She's been trying to destroy me for two years.
She's unstable.
She—"
"She showed me Donna," I said.
"And Renata.
And the holding company.
And the documents Brenda brought to my apartment four days before the wedding."
His jaw tightened.
Just slightly.
"Those documents were standard—"
"Grace Okafor filed an emergency injunction last night," I said.
"You should probably call your lawyer."
The careful expression cracked.
Not all the way — Derek was too practiced for that — but enough.
His eyes went cold in a way I recognized now.
The same cold I had seen in the dining room when he threw the towel.
"You have no idea what you're doing," he said.
His voice had dropped.
The softness was gone.
"You think Grace Okafor is a problem?
My mother's legal team will bury her.
They've done it before.
You are a woman who has been married for less than twenty-four hours, and you have no money, no case, and no—"
"I have the wire transfer notification," I said.
"Timestamped 9:47 a.m.
Thirty-two minutes after the ceremony.
I have your pattern documented across three marriages.
And I have your text from last night telling me it was my last chance to do this quietly." I paused.
"That last one was a mistake, Derek."
He stared at me.
"Leave," my father said.
"Now."
Derek looked at my father.
Then back at me.
Then he smiled — a small, tight smile that didn't reach anywhere near his eyes.
"This isn't over," he said.
"I know," I said.
"That's why I have a lawyer."
He left.
My father closed the door.
We both stood there listening to his footsteps fade down the corridor.
Then my father turned around, and for the first time since he had arrived, his composure slipped.
His eyes were wet.
"I shook that man's hand at the rehearsal dinner," he said.
"I know, Dad."
"I told him to take care of you."
"I know."
He sat down heavily in the nearest chair.
I sat on the arm of it and put my hand on his shoulder.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Grace.
*Derek's attorney contacted Terrence twenty minutes ago.
They're going to argue the injunction is based on fabricated evidence.
They want a hearing this week.
Be ready — they're moving fast because they're scared.*
I read it twice.
May you like
Then I typed back: *Good.
So are we.*
