Signed Mrs. Sterling Chapter 01
During that god-awful blizzard in Aspen, Harrison left me on the side of the road to pick up his first love.
In that exact moment, I called my personal attorney.
I didn’t scream or cry. I just calmly instructed my divorce team to draft the final papers.
Except for custody of our son, I demanded the enforcement of our prenup’s penalty clause: I wanted the massive family trust and the beachfront estate in the Hamptons.
Right then, in his Manhattan penthouse office, Harrison was swirling a glass of whiskey, a contemptuous smirk on his lips.
“Julianne, stop the drama. I’m just waiting for the day you come crying and begging me to see our son.”
That day would never come. Because just a moment ago, I’d heard the five-year-old boy I once considered my entire world make his birthday wish.
“I wish Vanessa would move in with Daddy and be my new mommy!”
…
“Mrs. Sterling, you really can’t go in. Mr. Sterling is on an international video conference…” the assistant pleaded, blocking the mahogany double doors.
My heels didn’t even pause. “Save it. I know his schedule better than you do.”
Bang!
I shoved the heavy doors open.
The office, overlooking all of Central Park, was empty except for Harrison.
No conference. No calls.
He was leaning back in his leather chair, staring out at the skyline, fiddling with an expensive fountain pen. The room smelled of his cologne and his overinflated ego.
The assistant shrank by the door, her voice trembling. “Sir, I tried to stop her, but…”
“Get out,” Harrison said without turning around, his voice as cold as ice.
I walked toward him, the sound of my heels clicking sharply in the vast office.
I slid a blue folder—the official divorce agreement—across the slick surface of his desk.
It bumped against his whiskey glass with a soft clink.
Harrison finally looked up.
There was no surprise in his eyes, only the kind of annoyance you have for a waiter who’s brought the wrong dish.
“Let me guess,” he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You maxed out your credit card again? Or is this another little drama scene because I didn’t text you back?”
“It’s a divorce agreement,” I cut him off. “I want you to sign it by Monday.”
Harrison let out a short, dry laugh. He pinched the folder between two fingers as if it were something dirty.
“Julianne, darling,” he sighed, leaning back and giving me that familiar, patronizing look. “Is this your new trick? Threatening me? You know that without the ‘Mrs. Sterling’ title, you wouldn’t last a day in New York society.”
“You have three seconds,” I said, glancing at my watch. “Either you sign, or I’ll have my lawyers sue you as the at-fault party. Every little detail about Vanessa will be on the front page of the tabloids. Your choice.”
The fake smile froze on his face.
For the first time in our five-year marriage, he saw something in my eyes he’d never seen before—total indifference.
“You’re serious?” he said in a low voice, finally dropping the act. “You want to dump me?”
“Read the terms. I want control of the trust, the Greenwich Village apartment, and the house in Montauk.”
“And what about Henry?”
“I’ll be fighting for full custody, but…” I paused, my tone as steady as if I were closing a business deal. “Custody is negotiable. For the right price.”
Harrison was stunned. He’d never heard me talk like this.
After all, when I first found out I was pregnant with Henry, he had tried to force me to get rid of it. His excuse was pristine: “The company is at a critical stage before the IPO, this will affect the stock price. I’m not ready to be a father.”
The truth was, he just hated that the child had my blood and not Vanessa’s.
Back then, I stood on our apartment terrace like a lunatic, threatening to jump. He just watched me with disgust. “Do whatever you want.”
Now, he probably thought I was still playing the same old game of “suffering in silence for the child.”
“A thirty-million-dollar lump sum alimony, plus two properties…” Harrison closed the folder, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips. “So the son you were willing to die for now has a price tag?”
I smiled back but said nothing, just shook my head.
He didn’t get it. This was just me cutting my losses.