When Silas burst through the front door, the penthouse was dead silent, the study locked. I was sitting on the living room sofa, legs tucked under me, composed and poised.

He strode into the room, his tie tossed aside, breathing heavily. He looked at me, his eyes frantically scanning my face.

I knew he wanted to explain; he just didn't know how to start.

I had been his partner in this high-society game for four years. I had taught him how to avoid social traps and skillfully defuse conflicts on the board.

He was a master of corporate warfare, but faced with the collapse of his home, he was speechless.

Before he could say a word, I smiled. It was the most tender, understanding smile I had ever given him.

"It's okay, Silas," I said softly. "I know Serena just moved back to the city and lost all her old connections. You just wanted to help her get back on her feet, which is why you took her to the gala."

Silas stared at me, his face pale. "Nina, I—"

"It's really okay," I interrupted, my tone gentle, almost maternal. "I don't mind at all."

He froze.

We stared at each other in the silent apartment. My gaze remained locked on him, my eyes full of tenderness and forgiveness.

Eventually, he was the one who looked away.

He suddenly crossed the distance between us, fell to his knees beside the sofa, and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist. He buried his face in my stomach, pulling me against him so hard I could barely breathe.

"Nina," he gasped, his voice muffled by my clothes. He sounded almost desperate. "You've lost so much weight."

I stroked his dark hair, smiling at the wall behind him.

I said nothing.

His suit jacket still reeked of that heavy gardenia perfume, almost suffocating me.

I swallowed hard, fighting down the nausea rising in my throat.

The next morning, I got up before dawn, brewed his espresso, and packed his lunch.

When he emerged from the bedroom, dressed in a sharp Tom Ford suit, he headed for the door but stopped halfway through the foyer.

"Nina," he said softly, "I forgot my tie."

I sighed—a look that perfectly encapsulated a deeply loving but exasperated wife. I went upstairs, grabbed a dark blue silk tie, came back down, and handed it to him.

He didn't take it. He lowered his head, his eyes intense. "Do it for me, Nina."

I stepped closer, looping the silk around his collar, my fingers deftly tying the knot. He stood perfectly still, obedient and quiet, watching my face. When I finished, I patted his chest. "There."

Before I could step back, his hands locked onto my waist, pulling me hard against him.

"Sila—" The moment I opened my mouth, his lips crashed down on mine.

It wasn't a sweet goodbye kiss; it was aggressive, possessive, and bruising.

He kissed me like a starving wolf, his tongue invading my mouth, his hands gripping my waist tight enough to leave bruises. It was the act of a man desperately trying to prove something to himself.

When he finally pulled away, his chest was heaving, a faint flush high on his cheekbones.

I looked at him, my expression placid, my breathing perfectly even.

He kissed my forehead, his tone a little hesitant this time. "I'm going to work, Nina."

"Have a good day," I smiled.

I texted Serena, asking her to meet me at a cafe in SoHo at 10 AM.

I arrived ten minutes early and waited in a velvet booth.

She made me wait for thirty minutes before finally sauntering in, draped in Chanel, looking effortlessly elegant and glamorous.

Ever since my father went bankrupt, Serena had been living off her European ex-husband's wealth. Now that she was divorced and back in New York, my billionaire husband was currently footing her bills.

She slid into the booth across from me, her red lips curling into a sweet, innocent smile.

I, on the other hand, looked like a ghost. I hadn't bothered with concealer; the dark circles under my eyes and my hollow cheeks were on full display.

"Nina! It was such a surprise to get your invite!" she said cheerfully.

We had barely spoken in college, so her suddenly calling me by my first name felt incredibly grating. A waiter approached, and Serena ordered without even glancing at the menu.

"An iced Americano, please," she said smoothly. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "You know, your husband loves iced Americanos. I never liked the bitterness before, but lately, I've really started to love it."

The implication. I knew.

I looked down at the untouched peach iced tea in front of me. Condensation dripped down the side of the glass. I didn't take the bait.

Serena's smile widened; she could taste the thrill of victory.

She was the one who had texted me the day she arrived at JFK. It was a polite but maliciously crafted little text that essentially said: I'm back, and I'm taking him away.

"Speaking of Silas," Serena continued, her voice loud enough for the neighboring tables to hear, "I really need to thank you—"

Splash.

The sound was loud and incredibly satisfying. The entire cafe went dead silent. Heads snapped in our direction.

Serena sat frozen, her face knocked sideways by the impact.

She slowly raised a hand, touching her dripping hair. I had taken the large glass of sticky peach iced tea and dumped it directly over her head.

The liquid dripped from her perfectly voluminous blowout, ran down her cheeks, and soaked the collar of her pristine white silk blouse. A soggy slice of lemon and a few chunks of peach were tangled in her hair.

Her non-waterproof mascara was already starting to run.

She looked absolutely pathetic.

She stared at me, her mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. "Nina... what the hell are you doing—"

"Serena," I cut her off. "You know exactly what I'm doing."

I leaned across the table, my gaze locked onto hers. "Drop the cheap soap opera act. You came back to New York for Silas. You know he still regrets how things ended, and you want to win him back."

"Right?" I asked casually, leaning back against the velvet cushions.

Her face went deathly pale, but only for a fraction of a second. Then, she let out a breathy little chuckle.

She opened her designer handbag, pulled out a pack of wet wipes, and started dabbing at her ruined blouse. The sweet, innocent mask vanished entirely, replaced by a cold, calculating predator.

"Yes," she said softly, a glint of malice in her eyes. "But Nina, darling, you can't force someone to love you. You can't keep a man who doesn't want to stay."

The masks were off. We had skipped the pleasantries and gone straight to war.

Looking at her ruined makeup, I couldn't help but let out a genuine, visceral laugh.

"You're absolutely right," I said.

"So, Serena, do you want to make a bet?"

She paused, the wet wipe hovering over her collarbone.

"If you win, he's yours," I said easily. "I'll sign the divorce papers and walk away completely. You won't even have to carry the ugly label of 'homewrecker.'"

Serena stared at me, searching for the trap. Finding none, a triumphant smile curled her rosy lips.

"Deal."