"Going somewhere?"

The voice was like syrup laced with arsenic.

Dominique stood in front of the double doors, blocking the exit. She was wearing a silk robe that cost more than Aurelia's car. She held a glass of green juice, looking every inch the pampered heiress.

"Move, Dominique," Aurelia said. She was tired. Her bones ached with it.

"You're in a rush," Dominique said, taking a sip of her juice. Her eyes flicked to the battered suitcase. "Didn't even say goodbye. But then again, you always were rude."

Aurelia tried to step around her. Dominique didn't move. She just tilted her head and signaled to the head of security, who was standing by the coat closet.

"Check her bag," Dominique said.

Two large men in black suits stepped forward. Aurelia recognized the older one, Miller. He used to drive her to school. Now he wouldn't look her in the eye.

"This is ridiculous," Aurelia said, her grip tightening on her suitcase. "I'm leaving. Let me pass."

"Standard protocol for terminated employees," Dominique said with a shrug. "And let's be honest, that's all you were. A bad investment."

"I'm your sister," Aurelia snapped.

"You're a liability," Dominique corrected. "Miller, the bag."

Miller grabbed the suitcase. He didn't ask. He yanked it from Aurelia's hand with enough force to make her stumble. He threw it on the marble floor and unzipped it.

Clothes spilled out. Scrubs. A stethoscope. Old textbooks.

Dominique kicked a pair of gray sweatpants with the toe of her slipper. "God, it's pathetic. You live like a refugee."

"The tote bag too," Dominique ordered.

Miller reached for the canvas bag on Aurelia's shoulder.

"No," Aurelia said, pulling back. "That's personal."

Miller didn't care. He wrenched the bag from her shoulder and turned it upside down.

A hairbrush, a wallet, the photo frame, and a bottle of water fell out.

And then, with a distinct, heavy clink, something else hit the floor. It rolled in a small circle and came to a stop at Dominique's feet.

A massive sapphire ring surrounded by diamonds.

The silence in the foyer was absolute.

Aurelia stared at the ring. Her breath caught in her throat. She had never seen that ring before in her life.

"Oh my god," Dominique gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in a performance worthy of an Oscar. "Preston's grandmother's ring! The Blackburn heirloom!"

"I didn't take that," Aurelia said. Her voice sounded thin to her own ears. "I've never even touched it."

"It fell out of your bag, Aurelia!" Catherine shouted, rushing in from the living room. She stared at the ring with horror. "You thief! You jealous, petty little thief!"

"It was planted," Aurelia said, looking at Miller. "He knows it. Look at him."

Miller was staring at the floor, his jaw tight.

Dominique pulled out her phone. "I'm recording this. For the police."

"Don't," Aurelia said, stepping forward. "If you file a police report, it goes on my record. I'll never get my medical license back."

"That's the point, isn't it?" Dominique smiled. It was a cold, sharp smile. "You tried to ruin my engagement, so now I ruin your life. Fair trade."

Aurelia's mind raced. She looked at the bag on the floor. The side pocket zipper was half open. She always kept it fully zipped.

The sound of a car engine cut through the tension. Tires crunched on gravel outside.

The heavy front doors swung open.

"Preston is here," Dominique whispered, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Perfect timing."

Aurelia felt the blood drain from her face. Not Preston. Anyone but him. She could handle the police. She could handle her father. But seeing the man she used to love witness this?

That was a cruelty she wasn't prepared for.

Preston Blackburn walked into the foyer like he owned the air everyone else was breathing. His suit was tailored to within an inch of its life, not a crease in sight.

He stopped when he saw the clothes scattered on the floor. His gaze moved to Dominique, then to the security guards, and finally, it landed on Aurelia.

For a second, his expression softened. Just a fraction. A memory of who they used to be.

Then Dominique launched herself at him.

"Preston!" she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. "Thank god you're here. It's awful. She stole it. She stole your grandmother's ring!"

Preston stiffened. He peeled Dominique off him gently and looked at the floor. The sapphire ring sat there, accusingly bright against the white marble.

He picked it up. He turned it over in his fingers.

"Aurelia?" he asked. His voice wasn't angry. It was disappointed. Which was worse. "Is this true? If you needed money... you could have just asked me."

The pity in his voice hit Aurelia like a physical blow. It knocked the wind out of her. He believed it. He actually believed she would stoop this low.

Something inside her snapped. The hurt burned away, leaving behind a cold, hard clarity. It was the focus she found in the operating room when blood was spraying and monitors were screaming.

She stepped over her scattered clothes. She walked right up to Preston.

"Give me the ring," she said.

"Aurelia, don't make this worse," Preston said, pulling his hand back.

"Give. Me. The. Ring."

She snatched it from his palm before he could react. Catherine gasped. The guards stepped forward, but Aurelia held the ring up to the light streaming through the transom window.

"If I stole this," she said, her voice cutting through the room, "and if it had been bouncing around in my bag with my keys and water bottle, the gold band would have micro-scratches. Gold is soft."

She tilted the ring. "It's pristine."

She ran her thumb over the sapphire. She brought her finger down and showed it to Preston.

"See this residue?" she asked.

Preston squinted. There was a faint, white smudge on her fingertip.

"It's white powder," Aurelia said. She rubbed it between her fingers and sniffed it. "Ammonia and chalk. It's silver polish."

She turned on her heel and pointed at the housekeeper, Mrs. Higgins, who was hovering by the kitchen door, wringing her hands in her apron.

"Mrs. Higgins," Aurelia said sharply. "You polished the silverware this morning, didn't you?"

Mrs. Higgins jumped. "I... yes, Miss Aurelia. For the party."

Aurelia walked over to her. She grabbed the woman's hand. Mrs. Higgins tried to pull away, but Aurelia held firm.

"Look at her cuticles," Aurelia said to the room. "White residue. The same polish."

She turned back to Dominique. "If I stole it, my fingerprints would be on it. Maybe yours, Preston. But I bet if we swab this ring right now, we'll find Mrs. Higgins' prints all over it. And underneath that, a layer of fresh polish."

Dominique's face faltered. The sobbing victim act cracked. "That proves nothing! Mrs. Higgins probably cleaned it!"

"You don't clean platinum and sapphire with silver polish," Aurelia said. "It damages the setting. Mrs. Higgins knows that. She's been here twenty years. Unless she was in a rush. Unless someone told her to grab it and plant it immediately."

Preston looked at Mrs. Higgins. The woman was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering.

"Mrs. Higgins?" Preston asked.

"I... I didn't want to..." the housekeeper stammered, her eyes darting to Dominique.

"This is slander!" Catherine shrieked. "Preston, she's manipulating you! She's always been jealous of Dominique!"

Aurelia dropped Mrs. Higgins' hand. She pulled her phone from her pocket.

"You know what else is interesting?" Aurelia said, tapping the screen. "I set up the smart home system in this house three years ago. You guys never revoked my credentials. And I always build in a back door. For emergencies."

She opened the app. She tapped on the 'Library' camera feed history.

"Let's see what happened twenty minutes ago."

Aurelia held the phone up. The screen was small, but the resolution was 4K.

On the video, Mrs. Higgins walked into the coat closet area. She looked terrified. She was holding the ring in a tissue. She knelt by Aurelia's tote bag, unzipped the side pocket, and dropped the ring in.

Then, Dominique's voice came through the phone's speaker, tinny but unmistakable.

"Hurry up! Leave the zipper open a bit. Make it look sloppy."

The silence in the foyer was heavy, suffocating.

Preston stared at the phone. The color drained from his face. He looked at Dominique. It wasn't a look of love. It was a look of horror.

"It's a deepfake!" Dominique yelled, her voice shrill. "She's good with computers! She faked it!"

"It's a cloud stream, Dominique," Preston said quietly. "You can't deepfake a live cloud log in thirty seconds."

Mrs. Higgins collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. "She said she'd fire me! She said she'd make sure I never worked in this town again!"

Catherine stepped forward, her hands fluttering. "Preston, darling, it was just a prank! A sisterly joke! Dominique is just... she's under so much stress with the wedding..."

Aurelia laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound.

"A prank?" she said. She put her phone away. "It's a felony, Mother. Grand larceny and framing someone? That's prison time."

She looked at Preston. "This is what you're marrying. A liar and a criminal. But hey, the merger looks good on paper, right?"

She knelt down and started throwing her clothes back into the suitcase. She didn't fold them. She just shoved them in. She felt dirty just being in this room.

Preston took a step toward her. "Aurelia... I..."

"Don't," she said without looking up.

"I'll drive you," he said. "Let me get you out of here."

"I don't want your ride," Aurelia said. She zipped the bag shut and stood up.

Dominique saw Preston's attention shifting. She let out a small moan, her hand fluttering to her forehead.

"Oh god," she whispered. "I feel... faint..."

She crumpled toward the floor. It was a graceful fall, practiced.

"Dominique!" Catherine screamed. "Her heart! Someone call 911!"

Preston turned, instinct kicking in, reaching out to catch her.

Aurelia didn't even blink. She walked past her sister's prone form. She paused for half a second, looking down.

"Her color is fine," Aurelia said flatly. "And her eyelids are fluttering. That means she's conscious and fighting the urge to blink. It's a textbook case of factitious disorder. Or, in layman's terms, a poorly executed tantrum."

She walked to the door. The security guards stepped aside this time, looking at their shoes.

Aurelia pushed the heavy doors open. The sky outside was dark, bruised purple and gray. A storm was coming.

She walked out. The air was cold, biting at her exposed skin. She didn't have a car. The bus stop was two miles away down the private drive.

She started walking. The wheels of her suitcase crunched loudly on the gravel.

Behind her, she heard shouting. Then, the roar of an engine.

She didn't turn around. She just kept walking, head down against the wind.

The silver Aston Martin pulled up beside her, moving at a crawl. The window rolled down.

"Get in, Aurelia," Preston said.