The morning sun hit the marble countertops of the kitchen, but it brought no warmth. Seraphina sat on a stool, staring into a mug of black coffee. She hadn't slept. Her small bag was hidden in the foyer closet.

Her phone rang. A private number.

She answered immediately. "Hello?"

Ms. Sterling? A professional, clipped voice. "This is the emergency department at Lenox Hill Hospital. We have your brother, Sebastian Sterling, here."

The mug slipped from her fingers. It shattered on the floor, ceramic shards exploding like shrapnel. Coffee splashed onto her bare feet, burning her skin, but she didn't flinch.

Is he... is he alive?

He's stable. Alcohol poisoning. His blood alcohol level was near lethal. He was brought in by a Mr. Thomas Sloan.

Sloan.

The name was a curse. Thomas Sloan, Tiffany's brother. The man who had systematically dismantled her father's company alongside Harrison.

I'm coming.

She grabbed her keys, but then remembered-Harrison had taken the second set of keys to her sedan "for maintenance" last week and never returned them. Her car was effectively hostage in the garage.

Dammit, she hissed. She opened her ride-sharing app, her fingers flying across the screen. Confirm Pickup.

The ride to the Upper East Side was a blur of honking horns and red lights she barely saw from the back of the Toyota Camry. Her hands gripped her knees so hard her injured wrist began to throb, a rhythmic pulse of agony that matched her heartbeat.

She ran into the lobby.

Sebastian Sterling, she gasped at the reception desk.

VIP Wing. Room 402.

VIP Wing? That didn't make sense. The Sterlings were broke. Sebastian barely had health insurance.

She took the elevator up, her foot tapping incessantly against the floor. When the doors opened, she rushed down the pristine, quiet hallway.

She saw him before she reached the room. Thomas Sloan was leaning against the wall outside Room 402, checking his watch. He looked up as she approached, a smirk playing on his lips.

He couldn't handle his liquor, little girl, Thomas said, his voice oily.

Seraphina stopped in front of him. She was shaking, not with fear, but with a rage so pure it felt like fire. "You did this. You spiked him."

I bought him a drink to celebrate a... potential investment, Thomas shrugged. "Not my fault he has no tolerance."

Get out of my way.

She pushed past him. But as she turned the corner to enter the room, she froze.

There was a bench outside the door. Sitting on it was Harrison.

And he wasn't alone.

He was holding a woman's hand. Tiffany Sloan.

Tiffany was dressed in a pale pink cashmere sweater that made her look fragile, angelic. She was dabbing at dry eyes with a lace handkerchief. She leaned into Harrison, her head resting on his shoulder.

Harrison looked down at her with an expression of tender concern-a look he hadn't given Seraphina in years. He was rubbing Tiffany's back, whispering something soothing.

The sound of Seraphina's heels clicking on the linoleum acted like a gunshot.

Harrison looked up. His eyes didn't widen in surprise; they narrowed in annoyance. He stood up, but he didn't let go of Tiffany's hand immediately.

Did you follow me? he asked, his voice low and accusing.

The audacity of the question made her dizzy.

My brother is in that room, she said, her voice trembling. "Dying. Because of her brother." She pointed a shaking finger at Tiffany.

Tiffany let out a dramatic gasp. Her hand flew to her chest, clutching the fabric of her sweater. "Oh no... my heart... it's palpitating again..."

She slumped forward. It was a performance worthy of an Oscar.

Tiffany! Harrison caught her. His attention snapped away from his wife instantly. "Easy, easy. Do you have your pills? Where are the beta-blockers?"

In... my bag, Tiffany wheezed, casting a glance at Seraphina through her lashes-a glance of pure, triumphant malice.

Seraphina watched her husband fuss over his mistress. She watched him panic over a theatrical fainting spell while her own brother lay unconscious ten feet away.

The absurdity of it broke something inside her. The last thread of hope, the last lingering wish that he might still be the man she loved, snapped.

She laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound.

You are pathetic, Harrison, she said aloud.

Harrison looked up, his face flushing with anger as he fished a pill bottle from Tiffany's purse. "My god, Seraphina. Have some compassion. She's fragile."

She's a liar, Seraphina said coldly. "And you're a fool."

She turned her back on them and walked into Room 402, slamming the heavy door shut behind her.

The silence inside the hospital room was broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Sebastian lay in the bed, his skin the color of ash, tubes running into his arms like translucent veins.

Seraphina rushed to his side, grabbing his cold hand. "Seb? Can you hear me?"

His eyelids fluttered but didn't open.

The door behind her burst open. It hit the wall with a loud bang.

Harrison marched in. He looked annoyed, straightening his tie as if the hospital room were a boardroom.

You nearly gave Tiffany a coronary with your aggression out there, he hissed. "She's sensitive, Seraphina. You know about her condition."

Seraphina didn't turn around. She kept her eyes on her brother. "Her brother poisoned mine. And you're worried about her performance?"

Thomas said Sebastian drank willingly to close a deal, Harrison said, his voice taking on that lecturing tone she hated. "Stop blaming the Sloans for your family's incompetence. Sebastian has always been reckless."

Seraphina felt a vein pulse in her temple. She stood up slowly and turned to face him.

Get out, she said. "This is a family room. You aren't family."

Harrison stopped. He looked genuinely shocked. For three years, she had been docile. She had been the "yes" wife. This new version of her was alien to him.

I am your husband, he said, stepping closer. "I paid for this room. I pulled strings to get him into the VIP wing. You should be thanking me."

I don't want your money. I don't want your help.

You need my help. You can't afford a band-aid without me.

On the bed, Sebastian stirred. The heart monitor beeped faster. Beep-beep-beep.

His eyes opened. They were glassy, weak, but as they focused on Harrison, they sharpened into a glare of pure hatred.

Harrison noticed. He stepped toward the bed, putting on his "benevolent benefactor" mask. "Sebastian, you're awake. We need to talk about your drinking-"

Seraphina moved. She stepped between Harrison and the bed. She placed her hands on Harrison's chest and shoved him. Hard.

Don't come near him.

Harrison's reflex was instant. He grabbed her wrist to stop her from pushing him again.

He grabbed the right wrist.

Seraphina cried out. It wasn't a protest; it was a sound of pure, physiological distress. The nerves in her damaged wrist ignited like gasoline. The pain blinded her for a second. Her knees buckled.

Harrison let go immediately, looking at his own hand, then at her, confused.

I barely touched you, he said, defensive. "Stop acting."

Seraphina cradled her wrist against her chest, breathing in shallow gasps. The pain was a white noise in her ears.

You're hysterical, Harrison concluded, adjusting his cuffs. "I can't deal with this right now. Tiffany needs to go home."

A nurse poked her head in. "Please, keep it down."

Harrison nodded at the nurse, charming and composed. Then he looked at Seraphina with cold eyes.

I'm taking Tiffany home. She needs rest. He paused. "Don't expect the driver. He's busy with me."

He turned and walked out.

Seraphina stood trembling in the center of the room. She waited until his footsteps faded down the hall.

Then, a weak hand tugged at her sleeve.

She turned back to the bed. Sebastian was looking at her. His voice was a rasp, barely a whisper, but the steel in it was unmistakable.

Divorce him, Sebastian croaked. "Now."

Seraphina wiped a tear she hadn't realized had fallen. "I am, Seb. I am."

Sebastian squeezed her hand. A small, cryptic smile touched his pale lips.

Good, he whispered, his eyes drifting shut again. "The accounts are secured. It's time to wake the giant."

Seraphina stayed at the hospital until the sun began to set, painting the Manhattan skyline in bruised shades of purple and orange. She only left when the doctors assured her Sebastian was out of the woods.

She used her app to call another car. The ride back to the Vanderbilt Estate was silent, the interior of the cheap sedan smelling of stale pine air freshener-a stark contrast to the leather and cedar of Harrison's limo.

The house was dark when she entered. Harrison was home; the Aston Martin was in the driveway.

She walked into the kitchen. It was empty. No dinner. No staff.

Harrison appeared in the doorway of the study. He was still in his suit trousers and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up. He held a glass of scotch.

Where is dinner? he asked. No hello. No 'how is your brother'.

Seraphina looked at him. She was exhausted, her bones aching with a deep weariness. "Where is the staff?"

I gave them the night off, Harrison said, taking a sip of his drink. "I didn't want them to witness your mood swings. I assumed you would perform your duties."

I didn't make anything.

She walked past him toward the stairs.

I'm talking to you, Harrison snapped. The ice in his glass clinked.

Seraphina ignored him. She placed a hand on the marble banister and started to climb.

Seraphina!

He shouted her name. The sudden noise echoed in the cavernous hall.

Seraphina flinched. She turned her head to look at him, distracted by the venom in his voice.

Her foot missed the next step.

It happened in slow motion. Her heel caught on the edge of the marble. Her ankle twisted at a sickening angle. Gravity took over.

She fell.

She hit the hard stone steps with a thud, sliding down two stairs before coming to a halt. A sharp, tearing pain exploded in her left ankle.

She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper, stifling a scream. She curled into a ball on the landing, clutching her leg.

Harrison dropped his glass. It didn't break; it bounced on the rug. He rushed over, taking the stairs two at a time.

Sera!

He knelt beside her. He saw her ankle. It was already swelling, puffing up against the strap of her shoe.

Don't move, he said. His voice had dropped the arrogance; it was low, urgent.

He reached out to pick her up.

Seraphina saw his hands coming toward her. The same hands that had grabbed her wrist earlier. The same hands that had held Tiffany's.

Panic, irrational and feral, seized her.

She flinched violently, shrinking away from him, pressing her back against the cold metal railings.

No! she gasped.

The fear in her eyes was raw. It froze Harrison mid-motion. He hovered there, his arms outstretched, looking at his wife as if she were a stranger.

I'm not going to hit you, he said, sounding offended. "I'm trying to help you."

Just don't touch me, she whispered. Her chest heaved. "Please. Don't touch me."

She tried to stand. A whimper escaped her throat as weight put pressure on the injury.

Harrison's jaw clenched. He ignored her protest.

You can't walk, he said gruffly.

He scooped her up into his arms.

Seraphina went rigid. She held her breath, refusing to lean into him, refusing to let her head rest on his shoulder. She held herself stiff, a dead weight in his arms.

He carried her into the living room and deposited her gently on the plush cream sofa. He turned and walked to the kitchen, returning moments later with a bag of ice wrapped in a towel and the first aid kit.

He knelt at her feet. He unbuckled her shoe with surprisingly gentle fingers. He applied the ice.

For a moment, the silence was intimate. He looked up at her, his eyes searching hers. For a second, he looked like the man she had married-the man who had promised to protect her.

Does it hurt? he asked softly.

Seraphina looked at him. She felt a pang of sadness. It was a grieving for what could have been.

Too little, too late, she thought.

She reached down and pushed the ice pack away.

I can do it myself, she said.

She grabbed a cushion, used the coffee table for leverage, and stood up on one leg, wobbling dangerously.

Harrison stood up too. "Seraphina, stop being stubborn. You need-"

I need you to leave me alone.

She hopped, agonizingly slow, toward the guest room on the first floor. She didn't look back.

She entered the room and locked the door. The click of the lock was loud in the silent house.

Harrison was left standing in the living room, the melting ice pack dripping onto the expensive Persian rug.