Cole leaned further into my space, his chest inches from mine.

“Walk out that door right now, and you won’t see a single dollar of spousal support until a family court judge forces me to pay in late spring.”

“Move,” I said.

He stared at me for three long seconds, his jaw tight, before stepping back against the marble island.

I walked past him into the vestibule, where my father stood pressing the elevator button.

Cole followed us to the doorway, his face pale against the dark oak paneling of the entry.