The office was quiet except for the soft rustle of papers.

You sat at your desk, a thick case file open in front of you, though your eyes hadn’t moved from the same page in several minutes. Across the room, Damion stood by the window of his office, jacket draped neatly over the back of his chair. The late evening light caught the sharp lines of his posture.

Neither of you had spoken about it yet.

But both of you knew.

The case file on your desk bore the name of the firm he represented.

Your firm had taken the opposing side that morning.

You closed the folder gently and stood, walking into his office. Damion turned slightly when he heard you, one hand still resting in his pocket.

“You took the case,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

His voice was calm, measured as always.

“Yes.”

A quiet pause settled between you. Not tense—just thoughtful.

Damion studied you for a moment, his gaze steady and analytical in the same way it was in court. But there was something softer behind it now.

“They assigned it to you?”

“I asked for it.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly at that. Not disapproval. Interest.

“You’re confident you can win.”

You folded your arms loosely, leaning against the edge of his desk. “I wouldn’t take it if I didn’t believe in the argument.”

Damion’s gaze drifted briefly to the file still in your hand before returning to your face.

“Then I suppose,” he said slowly, “I’ll have to prepare for a difficult trial.”

The faintest hint of amusement touched his voice.

You watched him for a moment. Anyone else might have expected jealousy, irritation, or some kind of marital tension.

But this was the way your marriage had always worked.

Respect first.

You tilted your head slightly. “You’re not going to ask me to step down?”

Damion gave a quiet breath that was almost a laugh.

“No.”

He walked around the desk, stopping a few feet from you.

“I married a capable attorney,” he said simply. “Not someone who needs permission to do her job.”

The words were matter-of-fact, but there was something steady beneath them.

Support.

You studied him, then allowed the smallest smile.

“Good,” you said. “Because I’m not planning to lose.”

Damion’s eyes narrowed slightly in thought, the competitive spark beginning to appear.

“Neither am I.”

For a moment you both stood there, the weight of the coming courtroom battle settling between you.

Then Damion reached past you, picking up his suit jacket.

“Dinner?” he asked.

You blinked. “After that?”

He slipped the jacket on smoothly, expression composed.

“Of course.”

His hand rested briefly at the small of your back as he guided you toward the door.

“We can oppose each other in court tomorrow,” he said calmly. “Tonight you’re still my wife.”

You glanced up at him.

“And if I win?”

Damion opened the door for you, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

“Then,” he said, “I’ll be very proud of you.”

“And if you win?” you asked.

He paused, considering.

“Then,” he said evenly, “I’ll expect you to admit I argued it better.”

You shook your head quietly as you stepped into the hallway beside him.

Two lawyers.

One marriage.

And a trial neither of you intended to lose.