Gage arrived at the penthouse two days later. I'd been living there alone since I got back from London, moving through rooms that felt like a museum of someone else's life. His key still worked. I heard the door open while I was standing at the window, looking out at Central Park.

'Elise,' he said. 'We need to talk.'

I turned. He looked tired. Good.

'Sit,' I said.

He sat on the sofa. I stayed by the window. Distance felt important.

'I know you're upset,' he began. 'But if we can just discuss this rationally—'

'Rationally,' I repeated.

'Yes. Like adults. This doesn't have to be a disaster. We can work something out that's dignified for everyone.'

I almost laughed. 'Dignified.'

'Elise, listen to me. Lilah understands me in ways you never could. She's gentle where you are sharp. She doesn't make everything a negotiation. She just—she lets me breathe.'

I straightened a picture frame on the side table. My hands were steady.

'Go on,' I said.

'I'm not saying you're a bad person. You're brilliant. You've built so much. But you're not warm, Elise. You're not soft. A man needs—'

'Warmth,' I finished for him. 'Softness. The things I couldn't be because I was too busy running your company and raising your children.'

He sighed. 'See, this is what I mean. You make everything adversarial.'

The front door opened again. Blair and Riggs walked in together. I hadn't known they were coming. Of course Gage had called them. This was an intervention.

Blair kissed her father's cheek and sat beside him. Riggs leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

'Mom,' Blair said, 'we're here because we love you. But you need to stop making this harder than it has to be.'

I looked at my daughter. She was wearing a necklace I'd given her for her twenty-first birthday. Cartier. I'd stood in line for two hours to get it.

'Harder than it has to be,' I repeated.

'Yes. Dad has been honest with you now. He's not asking for a divorce. He's asking you to be reasonable. To think about the family. To be more like Lilah.'

Something cold and sharp settled in my chest.

'More like Lilah,' I said quietly.

Riggs pushed off the doorframe. 'Mom, come on. You're being dramatic. Dad didn't do anything wrong. He just—he needed something you couldn't give him. Your controlling nature drove him away. If you'd been less rigid, less cold, maybe none of this would have happened.'

I crossed the room. I didn't plan it. I didn't think. My hand connected with Riggs's face before I understood what I was doing.

The sound echoed in the silence.

Riggs stared at me, hand on his cheek. Blair stood up, mouth open. Gage didn't move.

I looked at my son. At the red mark blooming on his face. At the shock in his eyes.

'I'm filing for divorce,' I said. My voice was calm. Quiet. Final. 'And as for the two of you—you chose your family. It isn't me.'

I picked up my handbag from the console table. The Patek Philippe was still inside. I would keep it. I would never wear it. But I would keep it as a reminder of the last time I was stupid enough to believe in this marriage.

I walked to the door.

'Elise,' Gage said. 'Don't be rash. Think about what you're throwing away.'

I turned back. Looked at him. At the man I'd spent twenty years protecting, building, sacrificing for.

'I'm not throwing anything away,' I said. 'There's nothing left to throw.'

I walked out.

—

The Four Seasons suite was quiet. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at my phone. Diana Cho had sent three emails with preliminary divorce filings. I opened the first one. Read it. My marriage, reduced to legal language and asset divisions.

Someone knocked on the door.

I checked the peephole. Kenzo West stood in the hallway, holding a folder.

I opened the door.

'How did you know I was here?' I asked.

'I've always known where you were,' he said simply. 'May I come in?'

I stepped aside.

Kenzo set the folder on the desk. 'Three names. The best divorce attorneys on the East Coast. They're all on retainer for you as of this afternoon. Diana Cho is excellent, but you'll want options.'

I stared at the folder. 'Why?'

He looked at me. Really looked at me. Not the way Gage looked at me—assessing, managing, calculating. Kenzo looked at me like I mattered.

'Because I've been in love with you since I was sixteen years old,' he said. 'And I've waited twenty years to be useful to you. Let me.'

I couldn't speak.

Kenzo picked up the phone. 'I'm ordering room service. You haven't eaten.'

He was right. I hadn't.

When the food arrived, he set it on the table by the window. Steak. Vegetables. Bread. He sat across from me and waited.

I picked up my fork. Set it down. Picked it up again.

'I slapped my son,' I said.

'I know.'

'I've never hit either of them. Not once in their entire lives.'

'I know.'

I straightened the silverware. Knife, fork, spoon. Perfectly aligned. Kenzo watched but said nothing.

'They chose him,' I said. 'They chose her. They looked at me and decided I wasn't enough.'

'They were wrong,' Kenzo said quietly.

I looked up at him. He hadn't touched his food either. He was just sitting there. Present. Steady. Waiting.

I didn't cry. I wouldn't cry. But I let him stay.

And that, somehow, felt like the first honest thing I'd done in twenty years.