After dinner, the guests dispersed. Hattie signaled for Florence to follow her.

Hattie's private sitting room was a different world. It smelled of old books, sandalwood, and history. It was cluttered with memories, unlike the sterile luxury of the rest of the house.

Hattie dismissed her nurse. "Close the door, Florence."

Florence pushed the heavy door shut. She turned to find Hattie fumbling with a velvet pouch from under her lap blanket.

"Come here," Hattie commanded.

Florence sat on the ottoman at Hattie's feet.

Hattie opened the pouch. Inside lay a bracelet. It was heavy gold, inset with three massive, translucent emeralds. It looked ancient. It looked powerful.

"This was my grandmother's," Hattie said. "It is the Livingston matriarch's bracelet."

She grabbed Florence's wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong. She snapped the bracelet onto Florence's arm. It was heavy. It felt like a shackle and a shield.

"This is for you," Hattie said. "And for the child."

"Grandma, I can't," Florence said. "Denese will be furious. She's been eyeing this for years."

"Denese is a fool," Hattie snapped. "She cares about status. This bracelet isn't just jewelry, Florence. It's a key."

Florence looked up. "A key?"

Hattie leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It grants access. To the vault. To the real trust. The one the men don't control."

Florence stared at the emeralds. They seemed to glow in the dim light.

"I know things haven't been easy," Hattie said, her eyes searching Florence's face. "Garnett... he has his father's ambition, but not his heart. You need protection."

Florence felt a lump in her throat. Hattie knew. Maybe not everything, but she knew Florence was in danger.

"Thank you," Florence whispered.

The door banged open.

Denese stood there, her face twisted in rage. Blossom was behind her.

"Mother!" Denese shrieked. She pointed a manicured finger at Florence's wrist. "What have you done?"

"I gave a gift to my granddaughter-in-law," Hattie said calmly.

"That belongs to the family!" Denese yelled. "You can't give it to her. She's a Boone. She's an outsider!"

"She is carrying the heir!" Hattie's voice rose, cracking like a whip. "She is more family than you will ever be, Denese. Now get out!"

Denese stood there, chest heaving. She looked at the bracelet with a hunger that was terrifying. Then she looked at Florence with pure hatred.

She turned and marched out. Blossom glared at Florence before following.

"Go," Hattie said, slumping back in her chair, exhausted. "Watch your back, child."

Florence left the room. The hallway was dark.

Denese was waiting for her near the stairs.

She stepped out of the shadows. "Don't get too comfortable, Florence. That bracelet looks heavy on such a weak wrist."

Florence touched the cold metal. "I'm stronger than I look, Denese."

Denese sneered. "We'll see. Accidents happen, you know. Stairs are slippery. Food can be spoiled. Babies... are fragile."

It was a threat. A death threat.

Florence stepped closer to her mother-in-law. She was taller than Denese. She used that height now.

"If anything happens to me," Florence said, her voice low and dangerous, "or my baby, I will burn this house down with you inside it."

She walked past Denese, her heels clicking like gunshots on the hardwood floor.

The interior of the Maybach was silent. The partition was up.

Garnett was staring at Florence's wrist. The emeralds caught the passing streetlights.

"Grandmother gave you the Emerald Cuff," he said. His voice was tight. "That's worth half a million dollars."

"Is that all you see?" Florence asked. She unclasped the bracelet and dropped it into her purse. "It's heavy. It hurts my wrist."

"Put it back on," Garnett snapped. "It shows status. It shows you're accepted."

"I don't need jewelry to feel accepted, Garnett. I'm carrying your child. Isn't that enough?"

Garnett looked away, out the window. "You're ungrateful. Just like your family."

Florence felt the anger bubble up, but she shoved it down. She clutched her stomach and let out a small groan.

"Ouch," she whispered.

Garnett whipped his head around. "What? What is it?"

"Just a cramp," Florence said, grimacing. "The dinner... maybe something didn't agree with me."

"Driver!" Garnett yelled. "Slow down! Avoid the potholes!"

He turned back to Florence, his face pale. "Are you okay? Do we need to go to the hospital?"

He was terrified. Not for her. For the asset inside her.

"I think I just need to rest," Florence said. "But... I need my things from the apartment. My sketchbooks. My tools. If I'm going to be stuck at the Estate, I need something to do."

"Fine," Garnett said. "We'll stop at the apartment. Just be quick."

Inside the apartment, Florence moved fast. She didn't go for the sketchbooks immediately.

She went to the safe in the study. She punched in the code. She retrieved a small, burner SIM card she had hidden inside a hollowed-out book two years ago.

She swapped the SIM into her phone. It booted up.

She dialed a number she hadn't called since her wedding day.

"Who is this?" A woman's voice answered. Lazy, annoyed.

"It's me, Sloane," Florence said. Her voice changed. It became deeper, more authoritative. "Vivian."

There was silence on the line. Then, a screech. "Vivian? You're alive? We thought you died! The art world has been mourning 'W' for two years!"

"I'm back," Florence said. "But I need to be invisible."

"Sotheby's has an autumn auction," Sloane said, her voice rapid-fire. "They are desperate for a headliner. If you have anything..."

"I have a collection," Florence said. "Jewelry designs. And sketches. I'll send you the digital files tonight. The name is still Vivian. The artist is still W."

"The commission?" Sloane asked.

"Put it in the offshore account. The Caymans one."

"Done. God, it's good to hear your voice. You ready to set the world on fire again?"

"I'm ready to burn it all down," Florence said.

She hung up. She swapped the SIM card back.

She grabbed a stack of old sketchbooks from the shelf.

She walked out into the living room. Garnett was pacing, checking his watch.

"Took you long enough," he grumbled. "Let's go. Mother is waiting."

Florence held the sketchbooks against her chest. Inside them were the designs that would make her millions. Millions that Garnett couldn't touch.

"I'm ready," she said.