The next morning, Celena placed a folder on Foster's desk in his home office.

"The deed transfer documents," she said. "I had a friend in real estate draft them up to save you time."

Foster looked at the papers with distaste. "You move fast when you want something."

"Cash flow is tight this quarter," he muttered, reaching for a pen but hesitating. "Maybe we should wait until-"

"I saw the Q3 reports, Foster," Celena interrupted. "You have the liquidity. The offshore accounts in the Caymans are doing very well."

Foster froze. He stared at her, a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes. He hadn't realized she had access to those files. He had underestimated her intelligence for so long he forgot she was the one who practically ran his company's operations.

Just then, the door opened. Ava walked in. She was wearing Celena's white terrycloth bathrobe. The one embroidered with CB.

Celena felt a muscle in her jaw jump.

"Babe, do we have any espresso?" Ava asked, ignoring Celena completely.

Foster looked at Ava, then at Celena. His ego flared. He couldn't look weak or poor in front of his mistress.

He grabbed the pen. He logged into his private banking portal on his laptop.

"Fine," he said, signing the paper and authorizing the transfer. "My banker will execute an expedited transfer to the escrow account. It will be initiated by noon. Happy?"

Celena's phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from the attorney Sterling had provided. Escrow agent confirms wire transfer has been initiated. Closing can proceed.

"Ecstatic," Celena said. Her voice was ice.

"Give me a thank you kiss," Foster demanded, leaning back in his chair, reclaiming his dominance.

Celena leaned down. She offered her cheek. It was cold as marble against his lips.

"Thank you, darling," she said.

She turned and walked out, brushing past Ava.

She went straight to the guest room, shut the door, and locked it. She sat at her small desk and opened her laptop.

She logged into the secure server Sterling had given her access to. The Kensington Trust portal.

The balance flashed on the screen.

$5,200,000,000.00

Five billion.

The fifteen million she had just wrestled from Foster was a rounding error. It was lunch money.

But it wasn't about the amount. It was about taking his piece of the pie.

She minimized the bank tab and opened a new window. She inserted a flash drive into the USB port.

She accessed the Baird Group's internal server using Foster's admin password-which he had never changed because he was too lazy.

She began downloading. Unfiled tax returns. Embezzlement records. The fake invoices to shell companies that paid for Ava's "consulting."

The progress bar crawled across the screen. 20%... 40%...

A knock on the door made her jump.

"Celena?" Foster's voice. "Are you in there?"

She minimized the window instantly. "Changing!" she called out.

"Well, hurry up. Ava wants to go to brunch."

"Coming!"

She watched the bar hit 100%. She ejected the drive and slipped it into her bra.

She opened the door. Foster was standing there, looking impatient.

"Are you happy now?" he asked, referencing the house.

"I've never been happier, Foster," she lied.

He nodded, satisfied that he had bought her silence. He had no idea she had just stolen his future.

---

Sunlight streamed into the penthouse kitchen, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. It was a beautiful Manhattan morning, the kind that usually made Celena feel hopeful.

Today, she felt nothing but a cold, clinical detachment.

She walked into the kitchen dressed in a sharp, charcoal suit. No apron. No house slippers.

The smell of burnt toast and greasy bacon hung heavy in the air. Ava was at the stove, wearing a frilly apron over a black lace slip. It was a caricature of domesticity.

Foster was reading the Wall Street Journal at the island. Leo was in his high chair, throwing scrambled eggs onto the floor.

"Morning," Ava chirped. "Hope you don't mind, I took over the kitchen. You looked tired."

Foster looked up, admiring Ava's backside. "Domestic goddess," he murmured.

Celena walked past them to the coffee machine. She poured herself a black coffee.

"I want her cup!" Leo screamed, pointing a sticky fork at Celena's mug. It was a custom ceramic mug, a gift from a friend years ago.

Ava turned, spatula in hand. "Oh, give it to him, Celena. It's just a mug. He likes the color."

Ava reached out to take the mug from Celena's hand.

Celena moved her hand back sharply. "No."

The single word hung in the air like a gunshot.

The kitchen went silent. Foster lowered his paper.

"It's hot coffee," Celena said flatly. "He'll burn himself. And it's mine."

"Just get him a juice, Celena," Foster grumbled. "Stop making a scene."

"I'm not the maid," Celena said, her eyes locking with his. "Ava is right there. She's the... motherly figure, isn't she?"

Foster blinked. He wasn't used to this tone. He was used to apologies.

Celena took a sip of her coffee, the heat grounding her. She checked her Cartier watch-a fake one Foster had given her for their first anniversary.

"I have a viewing," she said.

Foster sneered. "Enjoy your little house hunting. Don't buy anything tacky."

He thought she was going to look for furniture for the Hamptons house.

"I won't," she said.

She was actually going to sign the final closing documents at the title company.

As she turned to leave, she heard Ava whisper, loud enough to carry, "She's so cold. Poor Leo."

"She's just jealous," Foster replied, stroking Ava's arm. "Ignore her."

Celena grabbed the keys to the Porsche Panamera from the bowl. Foster thought it was his car. But he'd insisted the Porsche be leased through the company and, for tax purposes, had put her down as the primary driver on the corporate account. A convenience, he'd called it. Another form of control. Now, it was her escape.

"Don't wait up," she called out.

She walked out the door, the sound of Leo's tantrum fading as the heavy wood clicked shut.

In the elevator, she leaned her head against the cool metal wall and exhaled. A long, shuddering breath.

She wasn't jealous. She was liberated.

---

It was evening when she returned. The closing was done. The Hamptons house was legally hers.

She walked into the penthouse, exhausted but wired.

The living room was a disaster zone. Toys were scattered everywhere. Lego bricks crunched under her heels.

Leo was running around swinging a golf club-one of Foster's expensive drivers.

"Fore!" the boy yelled, swinging wildly.

Celena's eyes widened. "Leo, stop!"

He swung.

The club head connected with a blue-and-white porcelain vase sitting on a pedestal near the window.

CRASH.

The sound was sickening. The vase exploded into a hundred shards.

Celena dropped her handbag. Her knees almost buckled.

That vase was a Ming dynasty replica. It wasn't worth millions, but it was the only thing she had left of her mother. Her biological mother, who had left it at the orphanage with her. It was her only link to a past she didn't know.

Leo looked at the broken pieces. He laughed. "Oops."

A red haze filled Celena's vision. She lunged forward, grabbing the boy's arm. Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to stop him.

"You listen to me, you little brat," she hissed, her voice trembling with rage.

"Help!" Ava screamed from the hallway. "She's hurting him!"

Ava sprinted into the room and threw herself over Leo, acting like she was shielding him from a bullet.

Foster ran in from the office, phone in hand. "What the hell is going on?"

He pushed Celena back. She stumbled, catching herself on the sofa.

"Are you crazy?" Foster yelled.

Celena pointed a shaking finger at the shards. "He destroyed my mother's vase. He did it on purpose."

Foster glanced at the broken porcelain. He shrugged.

"It's just a pot, Celena. We'll buy another one. Jesus, you're hysterical."

"Just a pot?" Celena's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

She looked at Ava, who was hugging Leo and smirking over the boy's shoulder. The victory in her eyes was unmistakable.

Celena straightened her spine. She smoothed her blazer.

"You're right," she said. The calm that washed over her was terrifying. "It is just a thing. Like this marriage."

Foster frowned, confused by the sudden shift. "What?"

Celena stepped closer to Ava. She leaned down, her face inches from the other woman's.

"Enjoy him, Ava," she said softly. "He's a man who breaks things he can't replace."

Ava blinked, unsettled by the intensity in Celena's eyes.

Celena turned to Foster. "I'm going to the Hamptons. Tonight."

Foster looked relieved. He wanted her gone so he could play house in peace.

"Good," he said dismissively. "Go cool off. Don't call until you're ready to apologize."

Celena walked to the hallway closet. She grabbed the small overnight bag she had packed earlier-the one containing the hard drive and her personal documents.

She didn't look back. She didn't say goodbye.

She walked out the door, knowing she would never set foot in this apartment again.

---