"You knew enough to laugh at me."
She flinched. Then, quieter: "My mother cleaned offices in buildings just like this one. She used to bring me along when the sitter fell through. I did homework under conference tables while men in suits talked over her like she was furniture. I promised myself no one would ever look through me like that again. So I learned the clothes. The rooms. The smiles."
For the first time, I saw the girl underneath Vanessa Cole's sharp edges. It didn't excuse anything. But it made her human.
"Being seen," Derek said quietly, "can't require making someone else invisible."
"You're one to talk," she shot back.
"Yes," he said. "I am."
"I don't want a contest over who was hurt more," I said. "I want the truth about my mother's work, and I want this divorce handled with respect."
"You'll have it," Derek said. "No black cards. No performances. Independent counsel. A real review of the prenup — not because of your family. Because I should have done that before today."
