A BOARDING PASS TO GENEVA

“Can we make sure she never gets near us again?”

The words hung in the sterile air of the courtroom. Lucy didn’t look at James when she said them. She kept her eyes locked on Sandra, her lawyer, whose expression hardened into absolute resolve.

“Consider it done,” Sandra said softly.

James stepped forward, the polished toes of his Oxford shoes crossing the invisible line he had drawn the day he moved Delilah into that penthouse. “Lucy, please. I’m still your husband. I have a right to know if my child is okay.”

Lucy finally looked at him. There was no anger left in her eyes, only the vast, empty space where a decade of trust used to live.

Before she could speak, the heavy courtroom doors swung open. Two paramedics rushed down the aisle with a collapsible gurney. Catherine, Lucy’s mother, immediately guided them to the chair.

“Blood pressure is spiking,” one paramedic said, wrapping a cuff around Lucy’s arm. “We need to transport her to Mount Sinai for monitoring. Who is riding in the back?”

“I am,” James said instantly, adjusting his suit jacket. “I’m her husband.”

Catherine stood up. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to.

“You lost that right when you let another woman strike my daughter,” Catherine said.

She gently lifted Lucy’s left hand. Sitting next to her wedding band was a delicate, hammered silver bracelet. It was a piece Catherine had given Lucy on her eighteenth birthday, etched with a serial number on the inner band.

“Medical proxy is registered to me,” Catherine informed the paramedic, tapping the silver band. “He does not ride in the ambulance. He does not pass the hospital front desk.”

James stared at the bracelet. For years, he had teased Lucy about wearing such a cheap piece of jewelry next to the two-carat diamond he had bought her. He never realized it was an ironclad legal barrier.

“You can’t freeze me out, Catherine,” James warned, his voice dropping. “I pay for the premium insurance. I’ll just follow you in my car.”

Across the room, Delilah was being escorted out by the bailiff. She was arguing, twisting her shoulders, completely disregarding the judge’s orders. In her struggle, the clasp of her designer handbag snapped open.

Its contents spilled across the polished wooden floor.

Lipstick, a compact mirror, loose receipts. And a thick, blue paper folder.

James frowned. He stepped away from Lucy and picked the folder up from the floor. He opened it.

It was a first-class boarding pass to Geneva. It was booked for tomorrow morning. It was a one-way ticket.

“Delilah?” James asked, the color draining from his face. “You told me your passport was expired. You said you couldn't travel until after the baby was born.”

Delilah froze. The arrogant defiance on her face vanished, replaced by genuine, panicked calculation.

“James, don’t look at that,” she said quickly. “It’s a mistake.”

But James wasn’t just looking at the ticket. He was looking at the name printed on it. It didn’t say Delilah Vance. It said Delilah Sterling.

“Who is Delilah Sterling?” James whispered.

Before Delilah could answer, the courtroom doors opened again. A tall, impeccably dressed man with silver hair stepped inside. He ignored the bailiffs, the judge, and James. He was holding a heavy platinum pocket watch.

He walked straight past James, stopping only when he reached Lucy’s chair.