Three days.

Anaya lay curled on the floor near the foot of the massive king-sized bed. Her throat was parched, her lips cracked and dry. She hadn't eaten since they locked her in.

The silence of the room was broken only by the muffled sounds coming from the living room down the hall. Laughter. The pop of a cork.

Champagne.

They were celebrating. The merger must have gone through. Adele Townsend was probably out there, clinking glasses with Barrett, her perfectly manicured hand resting on the sleeve of his undoubtedly replaced, custom-tailored shirt.

A sharp pain radiated through Anaya's chest. It wasn't heartbreak. It was physical. Her heart, weakened by days of stress, dehydration, and the crushing weight of impending doom, was giving out.

She tried to crawl toward the door. Her fingernails scratched against the hardwood floor, leaving faint, white trails.

I can't die here, she thought. Not like this.

Her vision blurred. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, merging until the room was swallowed by darkness. She heard the lock click.

The door opened. Light flooded in, blinding her.

Barrett stood in the doorway. He held a document in his hand.

"Anaya?" he said. He sounded annoyed, not concerned. "Get up. The lawyers are here."

She tried to lift her head, but it was too heavy. She saw him step closer, his shadow elongating, turning into something monstrous.

Devil, she thought.

With the last ounce of strength in her body, she reached into her sleeve. She had hidden a broken piece of a plastic pen there, a pathetic weapon. She thrust it toward him.

Her hand moved through empty air. Her body convulsed once, then went limp.

"Anaya!" Barrett's voice changed. Panic? It didn't matter.

The darkness took her.

GASP.

Anaya shot up in bed, her lungs sucking in air with a violence that made her ribs ache.

She clutched her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Thump. Thump. Thump. It was beating. It was strong.

She was sweating. Her pajamas were soaked, clinging to her skin.

She looked around wildly.

This wasn't the penthouse. The walls were painted a soft, peeling cream. The window was small, covered by cheap plastic blinds that let in slices of bright, morning sunlight. The air smelled of old coffee and dust, not lavender.

Her apartment. Her old apartment in Brooklyn.

She scrambled for the nightstand, her hands shaking so hard she knocked over a glass of water. It shattered, but she ignored it. She grabbed her phone.

She pressed the home button. The screen lit up.

May 12th.

The year... it was three years ago.

Anaya stared at the date. She unlocked the phone, locked it, and unlocked it again. She pinched her arm, hard. Pain bloomed, sharp and real.

It wasn't a dream. Or maybe the last three years had been the nightmare.

The phone in her hand buzzed, vibrating against her palm.

The screen flashed a name: BOSS.

Barrett.

Her thumb hovered over the green button. It was muscle memory. Pavlovian conditioning. Barrett calls, Anaya answers. For ten years, she had been his shadow, his fixer, his doormat.

Pick it up, her brain screamed. Apologize for being late.

Then, the phantom sensation of the cold floor under her cheek returned. The sound of Adele's laughter. The suffocating darkness of that bedroom.

Anaya's hand recoiled as if the phone were a burning coal.

She stared at the screen as it rang. And rang. And rang.

It went to voicemail.

The silence that followed was deafening. It was the loudest sound she had ever heard.

She stood up and walked to the tiny bathroom. She turned on the faucet, splashing freezing cold water onto her face. She looked up at the mirror.

The woman staring back was younger. The dark circles under her eyes were gone. There was life in her skin. But the eyes... the eyes were different. They weren't the soft, hopeful eyes of a girl in love. They were hard. Flinty.

She remembered today. May 12th.

This was the day Barrett was going to announce his engagement to Adele Townsend. He was going to ask Anaya to coordinate the press release. He was going to ask her to pick out the ring.

A cold, cruel smile touched her lips.

"Not this time," she whispered to her reflection.

The phone buzzed again. A text message.

Barrett: Where are you? Bring the Townsend files. Now. The board is waiting.

Anaya looked at the imperative command. The arrogance of it. He thought he owned her. He thought she was just a piece of office furniture that had temporarily misplaced itself.

She typed a reply. Her fingers moved steadily, without a hint of a tremor.

Anaya: I quit.

She hit send.

Then, she held down the power button. She watched the screen go black.

She tossed the phone onto the bed and pulled her suitcase out of the closet.

The elevator doors to the executive floor of Meyers Media slid open with a soft ding.

Anaya stepped out.

The receptionist, a young girl named Sarah who usually greeted Anaya with a sympathetic smile, gasped.

Anaya wasn't wearing her usual uniform-the charcoal gray pencil skirt, the modest silk blouse, the low heels designed to make her shorter than Barrett.

Today, she wore red.

It was a dress she had bought years ago and never worn. Crimson, fitted, with a neckline that was professional but unapologetic. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, a rhythm of war.

"Ms. Rowe?" Sarah stammered. "Mr. Meyers is... he's in a meeting. He said no interruptions."

"I'm not an interruption, Sarah," Anaya said, not breaking stride. "I'm a resignation."

She pushed open the double glass doors to the CEO's office without knocking.

The room was exactly as she remembered. The panoramic view of Manhattan. The modern art. And the two people who had ruined her life.

Barrett was sitting behind his desk, his face thunderous. He was staring at his phone-likely at her text message. He hadn't blocked her access yet; he probably thought it was a childish attempt to negotiate a raise. The arrogance.

Adele Townsend was perched on the edge of his desk, her legs crossed, leaning in close. She was laughing at something, her hand resting possessively on Barrett's shoulder.

The tableau was perfect.

The door slamming against the wall made them both jump.

Barrett looked up. His eyes widened when he saw her. For a second, he looked stunned-by the dress, by the intrusion, by the sheer fire radiating off her. Then, the familiar mask of irritation slammed down.

"Anaya," he barked, standing up. "What the hell is this? You turn off your phone? You send me a childish text? We have a merger to finalize."

Adele straightened up, smoothing her skirt. She gave Anaya a pitying, condescending smile. "Oh, Anaya. We were just talking about you. Barrett was just saying he thinks you might need some time off. You've been working so hard."

"A breakthrough," Anaya repeated, her voice steady and calm. "Not a breakdown."

She walked to the desk. She pulled her building access card and the key to the executive safe from her purse. She dropped them onto the glass surface. Clack. Clack.

"My resignation is effective immediately," Anaya said.

Barrett walked around the desk. He was tall, imposing. He used his physical presence to intimidate, looming over her.

"You can't quit," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You signed a contract. You have a non-compete. And frankly, Anaya, you have nowhere else to go. This job is your life."

"Was," she corrected. She looked up at him. Really looked at him.

He was handsome, devastatingly so. But now, all she saw was the man who would lock her in a room to die. The man who would trade her for a stock price.

"I'm done, Barrett."

Adele let out a soft sigh. "Anaya, dear. I know this must be difficult. It's clear you have... strong feelings for Barrett. But we're all adults here. It would be a shame to let personal emotions derail a promising career."

Jealousy.

Anaya looked at Adele. The woman was beautiful, polished, and rotten to the core.

A laugh bubbled up in Anaya's chest. It started low and erupted into the room, loud and genuine. She laughed until her ribs ached. She laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Barrett and Adele exchanged a look of genuine confusion. They had expected tears. They had expected begging. They didn't know how to handle laughter.

Anaya wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Jealousy?" she said, shaking her head. "Adele, you can have him. You deserve each other. Truly. A matched set."

Adele's smile froze. Her face went rigid.

"Anaya!" Barrett shouted, slamming his hand on the desk.

Anaya turned on her heel. She walked toward the door, her red dress swishing around her legs.

"Wait," Barrett called out, stepping after her.

Adele grabbed his arm. "Darling, let her go. She's clearly unstable."

Anaya paused at the door. She didn't turn around. She spoke to the air, loud and clear.

"Barrett," she said. "Before you sign the final papers... you might want to audit the Townsend logistics subsidiary. Specifically the offshore accounts in the Caymans. Just a friendly tip."

The silence in the room was instantaneous and heavy.

It was the secret that had killed her in the last life. The embezzlement. The fraud Adele was hiding to inflate her company's value before the merger.

Anaya heard Adele's sharp intake of breath.

She opened the door and walked out.

As the elevator doors closed, she saw Barrett pulling his arm away from Adele, a look of suspicion dawning on his face.

Anaya stepped out into the lobby and out of the building. The sun hit her face. She took a deep breath. The air tasted like exhaust and hot asphalt, but to her, it tasted like freedom.

Her phone buzzed in her purse.

She glanced at it. Dad.

Earl Rowe. Calling for money. Just like clockwork.

The old panic flared for a second-the conditioned response to fix everything for everyone. Then, she remembered the plan.

She declined the call.

She raised her hand and hailed a yellow cab.

"Where to, lady?" the driver asked.

"The Hamptons," Anaya said.

She had one last stop before she disappeared. The company retreat was this weekend at Barrett's estate. Her passport and a stash of emergency cash were in the safe in the guest cottage she used to stay in.

She was going to get them. And she was going to burn the bridge so thoroughly that not even ashes would remain.

The Uber driver hesitated at the wrought-iron gates of the Meyers estate in East Hampton.

"You on the list, miss?"

"I'm the Chief of Staff," Anaya said, flashing an old ID she hadn't turned in. "Open it."

The gate swung open.

The party was in full swing. The bass of the house music thumped against the car windows. White tents, champagne towers, and a sea of people in linen and silk.

Anaya got out. She kept her sunglasses on. She wasn't here to socialize. She moved through the crowd like a ghost, heading toward the guest cottage.

"Well, look who decided to show up."

Anaya stopped.

Adele Townsend stood on the slate patio overlooking the infinity pool. She was holding a flute of champagne, surrounded by her court of socialites. She was wearing a white bikini and a sheer cover-up, looking every inch the future Mrs. Meyers.

Anaya tried to step around her. "Move, Adele."

Adele stepped into her path. "Did you come to beg for your job back? Or did you come to apologize for that little scene in the office?"

The music seemed to dip. People turned to watch. This was the entertainment. The heiress vs. the help.

Barrett was near the bar, talking to a group of investors. He turned, his eyes locking onto Anaya. He started walking toward them.

Adele leaned in close, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You know, Barrett told me about your father. The gambler. The drunk. We all know you're just a gold digger, Anaya. You spread your legs for the boss hoping for a payout, and now you're mad the contract is terminated."

The rage that hit Anaya was cold. Absolute zero.

In her past life, she would have cried. She would have run away, confirming every rumor.

Not today.

Anaya looked at Adele's feet. She was standing on the wet slate, right at the edge of the pool, in four-inch wedges.

Physics.

Anaya didn't say a word. She simply reached out, placed her palm flat against Adele's shoulder, and shoved.

It wasn't a playful push. It was a solid, forceful thrust.

Adele's eyes went wide. Her arms windmilled.

Splash!

The sound was incredibly satisfying. Water sprayed over the expensive guests. The music cut out abruptly.

Adele surfaced, sputtering. Her hair extensions were plastered to her face, her mascara running instantly. She looked like a drowned rat.

"You bitch!" she screamed, thrashing in the water.

Barrett reached the edge of the pool. He looked from Adele to Anaya, his face a mixture of shock and fury. He didn't jump in immediately; he just stared at Anaya.

"Have you lost your mind?" he roared.

Anaya stood on the edge, looking down at them. She felt ten feet tall.

"No," she said calmly. "I found it."

She reached into her purse. She pulled out a piece of paper. It was a formal, printed resignation letter. She had folded it into a sharp paper airplane.

She flicked her wrist.

The paper plane glided through the air, looping once before landing softly on the surface of the pool, bobbing right in front of Barrett's face.

"Consider that my formal notice," she said. "We're done, Barrett. In every sense of the word."

She turned her back on them.

A hush had fallen over the party. She could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on her back, but she didn't care.

She walked to the guest cottage, keyed in the code, and opened the safe. Her passport. A stack of cash. She shoved them into her bag.

She walked out the back gate, where her Uber was waiting.

As the car pulled away, she didn't look back at the mansion. She didn't look back at the chaos she had caused. She looked forward.

One bridge burned. One to go.