The first thing Isolde felt was weight.

A crushing, suffocating weight on her chest.

She gasped, her body jerking violently as air rushed into her lungs.

Her eyes snapped open.

She wasn't in the guest bedroom. She was standing up.

Disorientation slammed into her. The smell of smoke and ash was gone, replaced by the cloying scent of expensive lilies and... Santal 33. Grayson's cologne.

Orchestral music blasted her ears. Vivaldi.

A waiter bumped into her shoulder. "Pardon me, Mrs. Lancaster."

Isolde stumbled, catching her reflection in a mirrored pillar.

She was wearing a blue silk dress. The dress she had burned in the fire pit. Her hair was done up in an intricate chignon. Her face... her face looked younger. Tired, yes, but the hollow, skeletal look of the last three days was gone.

She touched her cheek. Warm.

She looked up. A massive banner hung across the ballroom ceiling.

HAPPY 5TH BIRTHDAY KAIDEN

& Effie

The second name was there, but it was an afterthought, printed in a script so small and delicate it was nearly swallowed by the grand, bold letters of her brother's name. Her birthday too, and they'd made her name a footnote.

Isolde's heart stopped, then she pulled out her phone.

The date.

It was exactly one year ago.

The room spun. She gripped the pillar for support. Hallucination? Purgatory? Hell?

"Isolde!"

The voice was sharp. Impatient.

Grayson walked toward her. He looked the same-impeccably dressed, handsome, and annoyed. But there was a difference. He didn't have the slight grey at his temples he'd had at the funeral.

"What is wrong with you?" he hissed, keeping his voice low so the guests wouldn't hear. "You're standing there gaping like a fish. Belle needs help with the cake cutting."

Belle Escobar appeared at Grayson's elbow, radiant in a red gown that cost more than Isolde's car. She held a napkin out.

"Oh, Isolde," Belle said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Did you spill something? You look so pale."

Isolde stared at them. Then, she saw it.

A flash of movement near the dessert table. A small girl in a plain white dress, trying to reach a cookie.

Effie.

Isolde didn't think. She shoved past Grayson, her shoulder checking him hard enough to make him stumble.

"Isolde!" he barked.

She ignored him. She dropped to her knees in front of the girl.

Effie turned, her eyes wide and fearful. She flinched, expecting to be scolded for touching the sweets.

"Mommy?" Effie whispered.

Isolde grabbed her. She pulled her daughter into a hug so tight she felt Effie's small ribs against her own.

Warmth.

A heartbeat. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

It was the most beautiful sound in the universe.

Tears exploded from Isolde's eyes. Not the silent weeping of the funeral, but loud, gasping sobs of relief. She buried her face in Effie's neck, smelling the baby shampoo, the sweetness of her skin.

"You're here," Isolde choked out. "You're here."

The music seemed to stop. Guests were staring. The crazy wife, crying on the floor at a birthday party.

Grayson was there in a second. He grabbed Isolde's upper arm, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"Get up," he snarled into her ear. "You are making a scene. Stop this hysteria immediately."

Isolde froze.

She felt the heat of his hand on her arm. The hand that had signed the divorce papers without looking. The hand that had held a golf club while their daughter was being buried.

Slowly, Isolde raised her head.

She looked at Grayson.

She stood up, keeping one hand on Effie's shoulder.

She looked at Grayson's hand on her arm.

"Let. Go."

Grayson blinked, taken aback by the icy command in her tone. "Isolde, don't start-"

Isolde reached up with her free hand. She grabbed his fingers. With a sharp, practiced twist she hadn't used in six years-muscle memory from a life he knew nothing about-she peeled his hand off her arm.

She didn't just remove it. She threw it back at him.

Grayson stumbled back a step, shock plastering his face.

Isolde straightened her spine. She smoothed her dress.

"I said," she repeated, her voice carrying across the silent pocket of the room, "do not touch me."

The silence in the ballroom was heavy, thick with the kind of tension that makes rich people nervous.

Grayson stared at his own hand, flexing the fingers Isolde had just twisted. His face was flushing a deep, angry red.

"You are drunk," he accused, stepping forward again. "Security-"

"I am not drunk," Isolde said. Her voice was calm. Terrifyingly calm.

She looked around the room. She saw the judgmental stares of the Manhattan elite. She saw Belle, clutching Kaiden's hand, looking like the victim of Isolde's madness.

Isolde smiled.

She walked toward the small stage where the microphone stood for the toasts.

"Isolde, stop!" Grayson hissed, pursuing her.

She stepped up onto the platform. She tapped the microphone.

SCREECH.

The feedback pierced the room. Everyone flinched. The jazz band stopped playing.

Isolde held the mic. She looked down at the crowd. She looked directly at Belle.

"Thank you all for coming to celebrate Kaiden's fifth birthday," she began. Her voice was steady, magnified by the speakers.

"I have a special gift for the birthday boy," she continued. She gestured to where Belle stood with the boy. "I realized something today. A child needs his mother. His real mother."

A ripple of whispers went through the crowd. Belle went pale.

"For five years," Isolde said, locking eyes with Grayson, "I have played the role of the dutiful wife and the loving stepmother. I have organized the parties, hired the nannies, and smiled for the photos."

She took a step closer to the edge of the stage.

"But I think it's time we stop pretending. Belle," she pointed a finger at the woman in the red dress, "you know Kaiden's favorite color. You know his allergies. You know him better than anyone. Because you should."

"What is she saying?" someone whispered loudly.

"Is she implying...?"

Isolde dropped her hand. "I am officially stepping down as the unpaid manager of the Lancaster household. Grayson, Belle... you two look like a wonderful family. I won't stand in your way anymore."

Grayson looked like he had been struck by lightning. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Isolde placed the microphone back on the stand. It clunked heavily.

"Happy Birthday, Kaiden," she said.

She walked off the stage. She didn't look back. She walked straight to Effie, who was watching with wide, awe-filled eyes.

"Come on, baby," Isolde said, taking Effie's hand. "We're leaving."

She marched toward the exit. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, terrified of her energy.

Grayson snapped out of his shock. He signaled to the two large security guards by the double doors.

"Stop her!" he roared.

The guards stepped in front of Isolde, crossing their arms. They were big men, hired for intimidation.

"Mrs. Lancaster," one said, "Mr. Lancaster asked you to stay."

Isolde didn't slow down.

"Move," she said.

"I can't do that, Ma'am." The guard reached out to block her path.

Isolde didn't think. The self-defense drills from her racing days-meant for escaping a crash or a kidnapping-came back in a flash of muscle memory. The 'Valkyrie' programming-buried under five years of domestic submission-surged forward.

She stepped into the guard's space. She grabbed his extended wrist, used his own momentum, and applied pressure to the ulnar nerve while sweeping his leg.

It was subtle, fast, and brutal.

The 250-pound man buckled, stumbling to one knee with a grunt of pain.

The second guard flinched, stepping back in surprise.

Isolde stepped over the kneeling guard. She didn't even look at him.

Grayson had caught up. He stared at the guard on the floor, then at Isolde.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded. "Since when do you know-"

"There is a lot you don't know about me, Grayson," Isolde said.

Kaiden ran up, holding a piece of half-eaten cake. He saw Effie.

"You're stupid!" Kaiden yelled, throwing the cake.

It missed Effie, splattering against Isolde's expensive blue dress. Frosting and crumbs slid down the silk.

In the past, Isolde would have apologized. She would have tried to clean it up. She would have cried.

Now, she just flicked a crumb off her chest. She looked at Kaiden with absolute indifference. Not hate. Just... nothing.

"Goodbye, Kaiden," she said.

She pushed the heavy doors open and walked out into the foyer.

Grayson chased her into the marble foyer. The heavy doors swung shut, muffling the sounds of the stunned party guests.

"You are insane!" Grayson yelled, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. He grabbed her arm again, spinning her around. "You just humiliated me in front of half of Wall Street! You go back in there and apologize to Belle right now!"

Isolde looked at his hand. Again.

"I told you," she said, her voice dropping an octave, "not to touch me."

She didn't use force this time. She just looked at him with such intense loathing that he instinctively let go.

She raised her left hand. The 5-carat diamond solitaire sparkled under the chandelier. It was heavy. It had always been heavy.

"You think this owns me?" she asked.

"Stop the drama, Isolde. It's a negotiation tactic, I get it. You want a higher allowance? You want that vacation house in Aspen? Fine. Just fix this."

Isolde laughed. It was a dry, sharp sound.

"You really don't see me, do you? You never have."

She gripped the ring. It was tight. Her finger had swollen slightly from the adrenaline. She twisted it hard, scraping the skin over her knuckle.

She yanked it off.

She held it up between two fingers.

"Here," she said.

She dropped it.

Ping.

The ring hit the marble floor. It bounced once, spun rapidly with a high-pitched whirring sound, and settled near Grayson's polished dress shoes.

"I want a divorce," she said.

Grayson stared at the ring, then up at her. He laughed, but it sounded nervous. "Divorce? You signed a pre-nup, Isolde. You leave with nothing. No alimony. No assets. You'll be on the street."

"I don't want your money," Isolde said. "I don't want the house. I don't want the cars. I don't want anything that has your name on it."

She pulled Effie closer.

"I just want her."

Grayson sneered. "And go where? Your mother's failing company? You have no job. You have no skills. You're a housewife, Isolde. You won't last a week."

Belle came bursting through the doors, breathless.

"Gray! The investors are asking questions," she said. She looked at Isolde, her eyes widening at the sight of the ring on the floor.

"Oh, Isolde," Belle cooed, stepping closer. "Please, don't do this. We're all just tired. Let's go upstairs, I'll make you some tea..."

Isolde looked at Belle. She looked through her.

"He's all yours, Belle," Isolde said. "No returns."

She turned to the valet stand. The valet was holding the keys to the Mercedes SUV.

"I don't need the car," Isolde said to the confused boy.

She pulled out her phone. She had downloaded the Uber app while walking through the hallway.

"You're taking a taxi?" Grayson scoffed. "With my daughter? Like a commoner?"

"I'm taking a ride I paid for," Isolde corrected. "And she's my daughter. You haven't looked at her in three years."

"I'm freezing your credit cards," Grayson threatened, stepping forward. "Right now. You won't get a block away."

"Go ahead," Isolde said.

A beat-up Toyota Camry pulled up to the curb. The driver looked confused by the luxury surroundings.

Isolde opened the door. She helped Effie inside.

"Where are we going, Mommy?" Effie asked, her voice trembling.

"On an adventure, baby," Isolde whispered. "A real one."

She got in and slammed the door.