Aletha walked aimlessly through the streets of Chelsea, letting the harsh wind dry the wetness on her cheeks.

The phone in her pocket started vibrating aggressively. The screen flashed with Kristopher's name.

Her fingers trembled as she pressed the answer button and brought the phone to her ear.

"Listen to me very carefully," Kristopher's voice came through the speaker, cold and absolute. "You are not to appear within a five-mile radius of Dinah ever again."

Aletha closed her eyes, the street noise fading away.

"I cherish her too much," Kristopher continued, his tone brutally honest. "I can't even bear to touch a single hair on her head. I won't let your toxic jealousy ruin her peace."

Those words acted like a physical blade, twisting into Aletha's chest and shredding the very last, pathetic shred of hope she held for this marriage.

She didn't say a single word. She pulled the phone away, ended the call, and immediately blocked his number.

She looked up and realized she was standing on the corner near the Chelsea Art Gallery. This was the venue where Sloane was hosting the new exhibition.

Aletha pushed open the heavy glass doors. The little brass bell chimed brightly. The warm air and the smell of oil paint and expensive perfume rushed over her.

She took off her trench coat, walked straight to a passing waiter, grabbed a flute of champagne from his tray, and downed it in one gulp.

The alcohol burned a fiery path down her throat, but it did nothing to melt the block of ice sitting in her stomach.

A tall figure suddenly stepped into her line of sight, blocking the crowd. The familiar, comforting scent of cedarwood and clean linen washed over her.

She looked up and met Julian's amber eyes. The usual calm, collected demeanor of the Wall Street prodigy shattered the second he looked at her face.

Julian reached out and gently pried the empty glass from her tight grip. His brows pulled together in a deep frown.

"Why are you so pale?" he asked, his voice tight with worry.

Aletha tried to force the corners of her mouth up into a polite smile, but the moment she met her childhood friend's gaze, her defenses completely collapsed.

Julian didn't say another word. He wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the crowd, and guided her up the stairs to the private VIP balcony on the second floor.

The cold wind whipped across the open terrace. Julian stripped off his custom suit jacket and draped it over Aletha's shivering shoulders.

Aletha leaned heavily against the metal railing. She stared down at the blurry headlights of the traffic below, and a broken sob finally tore from her throat.

She cried until her chest ached. Between ragged breaths, she poured out the suffocating toxicity of her three-year loveless marriage. She told him about the humiliation, the coldness, the feeling of being nothing but a disposable shadow.

She kept her secret-she didn't tell him she was Lan-but she gave him all the pain of being Kristopher's wife.

Julian gripped the metal railing. His knuckles turned stark white. The veins on the back of his hands bulged, and a terrifying, murderous rage boiled in his amber eyes.

He spun around and grabbed Aletha by the shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.

"Say the word," Julian said, his voice shaking with fierce determination. "Just nod your head, Aletha, and I will take you away from him today. Right now."

Aletha offered a bitter, broken smile. She slowly shook her head.

"I can't. The prenuptial agreement... the penalty clauses. My family is tied into his trust. I can't just walk away without destroying everything."

Julian cursed viciously under his breath, calling Kristopher a blind, arrogant tyrant.

He pulled Aletha into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. His large hand rubbed soothing circles on her back, offering her the first genuine warmth she had felt in years.

Aletha closed her eyes, letting her tense muscles finally relax in a space where she didn't have to fight to survive.

Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted from the main exhibition hall downstairs, shattering the quiet moment on the balcony.

Julian released her slightly. His eyes narrowed, instantly shifting into a defensive glare as he looked toward the top of the stairs. He sensed the danger immediately.

Aletha wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She took a deep, steadying breath, locking her emotions back behind a wall of ice, ready to face whatever storm was coming.

Aletha and Julian walked shoulder-to-shoulder down the sleek, modern staircase into the noisy main exhibition hall.

The crowd of Manhattan elites automatically parted down the middle, creating a clear path. Camera flashes fired in rapid succession, blindingly bright.

Kristopher walked down the center of the makeshift aisle. He had one hand casually tucked into his pocket, his posture radiating the arrogant dominance of a king surveying his territory.

Dinah clung tightly to his arm. She held her chin high, soaking in the envious stares of the crowd like a proud swan.

Aletha's feet rooted to the floor. Her stomach dropped as she watched her husband parade his mistress right into the center of her own domain.

Dinah's eyes scanned the room and locked onto the central display podium.

Resting under a glass case was a breathtaking black haute couture gown. It was the "Black Swan's Song," a one-of-a-kind, not-for-sale masterpiece designed personally by Lan for the Aura studio.

Dinah gasped. She shook Kristopher's arm excitedly.

"Kris, look at it! It's perfect. I have to have it for the gala," she whined, her voice pitching up in a spoiled plea.

Kristopher looked down at her and smiled indulgently. He reached out and ruffled her hair. He snapped his fingers, and the gallery manager practically sprinted over.

"I want that dress," Kristopher said.

The manager wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. "Mr. Glenn, I apologize, but that piece is strictly not for sale. It belongs to Ms. Sloane's studio. It's just on loan for the exhibition."

Kristopher let out a short, cold laugh. "There isn't a single thing in Manhattan that the Glenn family cannot buy. Name your price."

As he spoke, his sharp gaze swept across the room and landed directly on the staircase. He saw Aletha. And he saw Julian standing right beside her.

The muscles in Kristopher's jaw instantly locked. His eyes turned into dark, dangerous slits.

He left Dinah's side and stalked through the crowd, stopping right in front of Aletha. His tall frame cast a heavy, suffocating shadow over her.

"Call Sloane right now," Kristopher ordered, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Tell her to hand over that dress."

Aletha tilted her head up. She stared straight into the eyes of the man she had once loved so desperately.

"Dream on," she said. Her voice was flat, hard, and loud enough to carry.

A collective gasp rippled through the gallery. No one in this city ever dared to publicly defy the tyrant of Wall Street.

Kristopher leaned in closer. The scent of his cologne mixed with pure danger. "Do not test my patience today, Aletha."

Dinah hurried over, her eyes already brimming with fresh tears. She grabbed Kristopher's sleeve.

"Kris, please don't be mad. If Dr. Ward wants to be difficult, I don't need the dress. I don't want to cause trouble," she whimpered.

The surrounding socialites began to mutter, throwing disgusted looks at Aletha for being so petty and ungrateful.

Julian's patience snapped. He stepped directly in front of Aletha, using his broad shoulders to completely shield her from Kristopher.

"Your manners are disgusting, Glenn," Julian sneered loudly. "Bringing your mistress in here to rob someone else's hard work in broad daylight. Have you no shame?"

The word mistress dropped like a bomb in the middle of the high-society crowd. The room erupted into shocked whispers.

Dinah's face drained of all color. She swayed on her feet and collapsed against Kristopher's chest, sobbing into his lapel as if she had just been stabbed.

The temperature around Kristopher plummeted to absolute zero. He stared at Julian, his eyes burning with a promise of total destruction.

"Watch your mouth, Julian," Kristopher said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Don't risk your entire firm just to play hero for a used pair of shoes."

Aletha felt the words hit her chest like a physical blow with a sledgehammer. Her fingernails dug so deeply into her palms that the skin broke.

Julian let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "As long as I have breath in my lungs, I will never let a piece of trash like you bully her."

The two powerful men stood inches apart, the air between them crackling with violent, explosive tension.

Aletha stepped out from behind Julian. Her eyes were as calm and dead as a stagnant pool of water. She was ready for whatever hell came next.

Kristopher's eyes darkened with a rage so pure it was terrifying. He didn't throw a punch. Instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

"Call an emergency meeting with our partners at the investment bank," Kristopher ordered into the phone, his voice echoing in the dead-silent gallery. "I want to review our entire credit exposure to the Chelsea Art Gallery's parent company. Find a breach, any breach. I want them cut off by morning."

The gallery manager let out a strangled cry. He rushed forward and literally dropped to his knees on the polished hardwood floor, begging.

"Mr. Glenn! Please! You'll bankrupt us! Please, I beg you!"

Kristopher didn't even look down. He simply jerked his chin toward the glass display case holding the Black Swan gown.

The manager scrambled to his feet, his hands shaking violently as he pulled a set of keys from his pocket. He unlocked the glass case, carefully lifted the black dress, and held it out with both hands like an offering.

Dinah smiled. The tears vanished instantly, replaced by the smug, victorious glow of a conqueror. She waved her hand, and her assistant rushed forward to take the dress.

Aletha stood frozen. She watched three months of her own blood, sweat, and sleepless nights being handed over to a thief. She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted the familiar metallic tang of blood.

Julian pulled out his phone, ready to call his own financial backers to counter the move.

Aletha reached out and wrapped her fingers tightly around his wrist. She shook her head slowly.

She refused to let Julian drag his company into the crossfire for her. She let go of his arm, straightened her spine against the mocking stares of the crowd, and walked out of the gallery.

The cold street wind hit her face. She took a deep breath, locking the burning hatred deep inside her ribcage.

Her phone rang. It was Genevieve, her adoptive mother.

"Get your useless self back to the Long Island estate right now!" Genevieve shrieked through the speaker.

Aletha hailed a cab. She sat in silence as the car crossed the bridge, taking her back to the massive, freezing mansion she used to call home.

The moment she stepped through the grand oak doors into the foyer, a heavy crystal ashtray flew through the air.

It missed her forehead by an inch and shattered violently against the doorframe behind her. Shards of glass rained down on her shoulders.

Her adoptive father, Garrison, stood in the center of the living room, his face purple with rage.

"You worthless waste of space!" Garrison roared. "You can't even keep your husband's attention! Glenn Industries just paused our venture capital funding!"

Genevieve sat on the sofa, dabbing her dry eyes with a tissue. "The family trust is bleeding dry, Aletha. We are going to lose everything."

Haylie, Aletha's adoptive sister, lounged in a velvet chair wearing a silk robe, swirling a glass of red wine.

"You're the legal wife, yet you let a crybaby ex-girlfriend walk all over you," Haylie sneered, taking a sip of wine. "Pathetic."

Aletha stared at the people who had drained her dry. "I have sold my life and my freedom to this family for three years. Is it never enough?"

Garrison slammed his fist down on the coffee table. "As long as your last name is Ward, you will bleed for this family until you die!"

He picked up a thick legal folder containing the medical tech venture capital contract and threw it hard at Aletha's feet.

"You will go to Kristopher tonight. You will get on your knees if you have to, but you will not leave until he signs that contract!" Garrison ordered.

Aletha looked down at the folder. She slowly bent down and picked it up. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the paper. She let out a dry, hollow laugh, turned around, and walked back toward the door.

"If you don't get that money, I'll go to your hospital tomorrow and scream until you lose your job!" Haylie yelled at her back.

Aletha slammed the heavy oak doors shut, cutting off the toxic poison of her family.

She walked down the empty, winding road of the Long Island estate. The night wind cut through her clothes, chilling her to the bone. She had nowhere to go. No one in the world to protect her.

Suddenly, her phone screen lit up with a flashing red light. A loud, piercing alarm sounded.

It was the mandatory emergency response app for Fairview Medical Center. A mass casualty event.

The doctor inside her immediately overrode the broken woman. Aletha sprinted to the main road, flagged down a passing taxi, and jumped in.

"Fairview Medical Center, Manhattan. Fast," she told the driver.

She opened the app to read the accident brief. Her heart stopped. Sitting right at the top of the incoming trauma list was a name she knew too well.