The Foster townhouse smelled like roasted lamb and old money. I stood on the front steps at eight o'clock sharp, my hand steady on the brass knocker. The door swung open before I could use it.

"Lorelei." Heidi smiled like we were friends. "Come in, darling."

I stepped inside. The foyer was exactly as I remembered. Marble floors. A crystal chandelier that cost more than most people's cars. Fresh lilies in a vase on the console table. Everything perfect. Everything cold.

Sullivan was waiting in the dining room. He stood when I entered, his suit pressed, his expression unreadable. Hudson sat to his right. He looked tired. Good.

Ayleen sat across from him.

She wore a navy dress with a high collar. Tasteful. Demure. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a low bun. She looked up when I walked in and smiled. Not a smirk. A smile. Like she belonged there.

Like I was the guest.

"Lorelei," Sullivan said. "Sit."

I sat at the far end of the table. Heidi poured wine into a glass in front of me. Bordeaux. The expensive kind. The kind she only brought out when she wanted to remind you how much everything cost.

"Thank you for coming," Sullivan said. "I know this has been a difficult time."

I said nothing.

"Hudson made a mistake," he continued. "But mistakes can be corrected. Marriages survive worse."

I looked at Hudson. He was staring at his plate.

"You have been part of this family for five years," Sullivan said. "We value loyalty. We value discretion. And we value the understanding that sometimes, in a marriage, accommodations must be made."

Accommodations. The word hung in the air like smoke.

Heidi leaned forward. "What Sullivan means is that we all make sacrifices for the people we love. You understand sacrifice, Lorelei. Better than most."

She gestured vaguely toward my face. Toward the scars that were still there, faint but visible under the dining room light.

"Ayleen is a lovely girl," Heidi continued. "And she cares for Hudson very much. Perhaps, in time, you could all come to an understanding. For the good of the family."

Ayleen's smile widened just a fraction.

I picked up my wine glass. Felt the weight of it in my hand. The Bordeaux was dark red. Almost black.

"An understanding," I repeated.

"Yes," Sullivan said. "A mature arrangement. Hudson will continue to provide for you, of course. Your father's business will remain supported. But publicly, we need to present a united front. The scandal has already cost us eighteen percent in stock value. We need it contained."

I looked at each of them in turn. Sullivan, with his cold executive stare. Heidi, with her sympathetic head tilt. Ayleen, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Hudson, still staring at his plate like a coward.

I thought about the hotel room. The divorce papers. The IVF receipts in my locked drawer. The MBA diploma I'd never shown them. The life I'd been building in secret while they turned me into a ghost.

I stood.

"Lorelei—" Sullivan started.

I threw the wine in his face.

The Bordeaux hit him square across the eyes. He jerked back, sputtering. Heidi gasped. Hudson shot to his feet.

I turned to Ayleen. She was frozen, her smile finally gone. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her face-first into the table. She screamed. I shoved her chair back and flipped the entire table on its side.

The roast lamb hit the floor. The bone-china shattered. Wine and gravy and broken porcelain spread across Heidi's pristine hardwood.

"Lorelei!" Hudson lunged toward me. I stepped back.

"Don't," I said.

He stopped.

I looked at Sullivan, wine dripping from his jaw. At Heidi, clutching her chest like she might faint. At Ayleen, holding her nose, blood between her fingers. At Hudson, standing there like he didn't know what to do.

"Five years," I said quietly. "Five years I sat at this table and made myself smaller so you could feel bigger. Five years I listened to your lectures about loyalty while you treated me like something broken you were too polite to throw away."

My voice didn't shake. My hands didn't tremble.

"I gave you my face," I said. "I gave you my pride. I gave you everything I had. And you couldn't even pretend to be grateful."

I turned to Hudson. "You flinched every time I touched you. You stopped coming to bed. You replaced me with a girl who looks like I used to look because you couldn't stand what I became saving your life."

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

I walked to the front door and pulled it open.

Mara's photographer was already on the steps. Two reporters stood behind him. Cameras up. Lights on.

I stepped into the doorway and looked directly at the lens.

"My name is Lorelei Matthews," I said. "I am Hudson Foster's legal wife of five years. This is the woman he has been sleeping with while I stayed home with the scars I got saving his life."

I pointed back into the dining room. At Ayleen, still holding her bleeding nose. At Hudson, white-faced and silent. At the overturned table and the shattered china and the wine-soaked floor.

"This," I said, "is the Foster family."

The cameras flashed.

I walked down the steps and didn't look back.