"We are divorced," Juliette said, glass poised and hard. A camera flashed. Someone laughed. Everett Nelson's smile stayed in place for one clean second and then split. "That's dramatic," Everett said, voice smooth enough for a headline. "You mean... now?" "I mean now," Juliette said. She opened her hand and set a thin, empty ring on the table between them. The band was polished, light catching the metal like accusation. Cameron Pettersson stepped forward as if to sweep the moment away with a well-practiced apology. "Juliette, this is private. Let's take this—" "This is public," Juliette interrupted. "And I'm returning something that isn't mine anymore." "You're making a scene," a photographer murmured. Flashbulbs popped like tiny gunshots. "Good," Juliette said. "Let everyone see the truth." Everett laughed, a single, brittle sound. "Truth? You think you have it? You think the world will believe you over me?" "Do you think I need the world's belief?" Juliette asked. Her eyes scanned the ballroom, landing on the ribbons of press, the celebrity seats, the chamber of crystal and projection screens looping last month's awards. "I want my name back." "Your name?" Cameron snapped. "You signed papers. We can fix this. Quiet, tasteful, a statement. You don't throw away contracts in front of donors." Juliette leaned forward until their knees almost touched. She kept her voice low. "There is no contract that buys dignity." A murmur ran through the crowd. Someone started a clip