His “connections” evaporated. The whispers began in the locker room of the Equinox and the steam room of the Soho House.

Divorce rumors. Frozen accounts. Loss of status.

Ethan tried to fight back. He hired a lawyer—a shark named Gold who usually handled messy celebrity splits. They filed an emergency motion to claim rights to the shared assets, arguing that the prenup was signed under duress.

“Duress?” I laughed when my counsel, the terrifyingly competent Elena Rossini, read me the brief. “He was eating truffle pasta in a five-star villa. The only duress he was under was deciding between the tiramisu and the panna cotta.”

We met for mediation three weeks later.