Alexander stormed back into the master bedroom. The rage was a physical thing now, a tight knot in his chest that made it hard to breathe. He snatched the divorce papers from the bed where he had discarded them.

He needed to read them. He needed to find the loophole, the mistake, the thing he could use to crush this rebellion. She couldn't just check out of their marriage like it was a hotel.

He scanned the document again, his eyes burning. He skipped the financial waivers. He looked for the cause.

Grounds for Divorce.

His eyes stopped. He blinked, thinking he had misread the elegant, looping handwriting.

Irreconcilable differences and Spousal Functional Dysfunction.

Alexander froze. The paper crinkled in his tightening grip.

Dysfunction? he whispered the word. It tasted like ash.

She was mocking him. She was implying... that?

He remembered the nights he had spent in this bed, turning his back to her. Not because he couldn't perform, but because he wouldn't. He had withheld himself as a form of loyalty to Scarlett, a twisted sort of chastity. And Evelyn-quiet, mousey Evelyn-was calling it dysfunction?

With a roar of frustration, Alexander grabbed a crystal vase from the nightstand and hurled it against the opposite wall. It shattered into a thousand glittering shards, raining down on the plush carpet.

Five miles away, on Fifth Avenue, the sun was breaking through the clouds.

Evelyn stood outside the flagship Chanel store. She wasn't wearing the trench coat anymore. It was draped over her arm. She was wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans she had changed into in a Starbucks bathroom.

A woman with bright red hair and a smile that could stop traffic came running down the sidewalk. Sophie.

Evie! Sophie shrieked, ignoring the dignified stares of the Upper East Side shoppers. She threw her arms around Evelyn, squeezing tight. You actually did it? You gave him the papers?

Evelyn hugged her back, smelling Sophie's expensive perfume and the comforting scent of loyalty. She pulled away and smiled. She reached up and took off her glasses. She folded them and slipped them into her purse.

I did, Evelyn said. The world looked sharper, brighter. She didn't need the glasses; they were non-prescription, a prop she had adopted to look more like the studious, boring girl her stepmother wanted her to be.

Sophie gasped, staring at Evelyn's face. God, I forgot. I forgot how gorgeous you are without those things hiding your eyes. Those lashes are illegal, Evie.

Evelyn laughed. It felt rusty, but good.

So, what's the plan? Sophie asked, eyeing the Chanel display. Are we burning through his credit limit? Please tell me we are.

Evelyn shook her head, a small, secretive smile playing on her lips. No. I left his cards on the counter.

Sophie's jaw dropped. You what? Evie, you need resources! You can't start a war with empty pockets.

Evelyn reached into her bag and pulled out a sleek, matte black card. It wasn't an Amex. It was issued by a private Swiss bank, displaying no name, just a chip and a serial number.

I have resources, Evelyn said quietly. The Oracle's accounts have been dormant for three years. It's time to wake them up.

Sophie's eyes widened, then narrowed into a wicked grin. Oh. Oh, right. I always forget you're secretly richer than God. This is going to be fun.

Let's hurt him where it counts, Sophie said, linking her arm through Evelyn's. His ego.

They pushed through the glass doors of Chanel. The air conditioning was cool and smelled of leather and money.

Evelyn didn't look at the price tags. For three years, she had worn what she was told to wear. Beige. Grey. Modest.

She walked to a rack and pulled out a dress. It was emerald green, silk, with a back that plunged dangerously low.

The sales assistant hurried over, looking skeptical of Evelyn's jeans. Can I help you, Miss?

I'm trying this on, Evelyn said. And bring me the matching heels. Size seven.

Ten minutes later, Evelyn stepped out of the dressing room. The silk clung to her curves like a second skin. The green made her hazel eyes pop, turning them into pools of gold and forest.

The sales assistant's jaw dropped slightly. It... it was made for you, Miss.

I'll take it, Evelyn said. She handed over the matte black card.

The assistant hesitated, looking at the nameless card. I'm not sure if our system accepts...

Try it, Evelyn said confidently.

Beep. Approved.

They moved like a whirlwind. Jimmy Choo. Prada. Yves Saint Laurent.

At a high-end salon, Evelyn sat in the chair. Cut it, she told the stylist.

All of it? the stylist asked, holding her long, heavy hair.

All of it.

The scissors flashed. Locks of brown hair fell to the floor. When the chair spun around, Evelyn looked at herself. Her hair was now a sleek, sharp bob that framed her jawline. It made her neck look long and elegant.

The makeup artist applied a coat of bold, blood-red lipstick.

Evelyn stared at the mirror. The mouse was gone. The woman staring back looked dangerous.

In the boardroom of Vance Global, the atmosphere was suffocating.

Alexander sat at the head of the long mahogany table. Twelve board members were discussing the quarterly projections. Alexander was staring at a graph, but he wasn't seeing it. He was seeing the empty spot on his nightstand.

His phone, placed face up on the table, remained stubbornly silent.

He checked it. No notifications.

He frowned. Usually, Evelyn's supplementary card triggered alerts on his phone for every grocery run, every dry cleaning bill.

She had been gone for hours. Surely she needed to eat? To take a cab? To book a hotel?

He opened his banking app.

Supplementary Card Ending in 4098: Status - Inactive.

Last transaction: 3 days ago. Whole Foods. $45.00.

She wasn't spending his money.

A strange uneasiness crept up his spine. If she wasn't using his money, how was she surviving? Did she have a stash of cash? Was she begging friends?

Or... did she not need him at all?

The thought was intrusive and unwelcome.

Mr. Vance? The CFO cleared his throat. Regarding the acquisition...

Alexander snapped his head up. Proceed.

He shoved the phone into his pocket. He told himself he didn't care. If she wanted to starve on the streets of Manhattan to prove a point, let her. She would come crawling back when reality hit.

But as the meeting droned on, he couldn't shake the image of her cold, indifferent eyes in the kitchen.

Night had fallen over New York City, transforming the grey grime into a glittering web of lights. The Meatpacking District was pulsing with life. The bass from the clubs vibrated through the cobblestone streets.

Outside The Gilded Lily, a crowd pressed against the velvet ropes. People were begging the bouncers, dropping names, flashing cash.

A black town car pulled up to the curb. The crowd parted.

The door opened. A pair of stiletto heels hit the pavement.

Evelyn stepped out.

The emerald green dress shimmered under the streetlights. The plunging back exposed her spine, a graceful line of pale skin. Her new haircut swung sharply as she turned. Her lips were painted a defiant red.

Sophie scrambled out after her, grinning. You look like a movie star who just killed her husband and got away with it.

Evelyn smirked. The night is young.

They walked straight to the front. The head of security looked at his clipboard. He didn't recognize her face, but the reservation under the name "Oracle" commanded respect.

Right this way, Miss.

They were led past the sweating bodies on the dance floor, up a spiral staircase to the VVIP balcony. It was a glass-enclosed birdcage overlooking the chaos below.

Evelyn sat on the velvet banquette. She crossed her legs, the slit of her dress riding up high on her thigh.

A magnum of vintage champagne arrived with sparklers flaring.

Evelyn didn't look at it. She looked at the manager.

Send over your best hosts, she said. I want conversation. And make sure they are tall.

Sophie leaned in, whispering, Alex is going to have a stroke if he finds out.

Evelyn took a sip of champagne. It bubbled on her tongue. He is probably at the hospital holding Scarlett's hand. He won't know.

Five minutes later, eight men in tuxedos arrived. They were the club's "atmosphere models"-men paid to be charming, handsome, and attentive. They surrounded the booth like a wall of expensive cologne.

One of them, a man with piercing blue eyes, sat next to Evelyn. He lit a cigarette for her. She didn't smoke, but she held it between her fingers, watching the smoke curl into the air.

Downstairs, the energy shifted. The crowd at the entrance parted like the Red Sea.

Alexander Vance marched in.

He was still in his suit from the office, though the tie was gone. He looked like a thundercloud. Behind him trailed Brandon Maxwell, his college friend and lawyer, looking amused.

Alexander's eyes scanned the club with predatory intensity. He had come here to blow off steam, to forget the disastrous morning.

He looked up.

He saw the VVIP balcony.

He saw the green dress. He saw the bare back.

He saw a man leaning close to a woman's ear, whispering something that made her throw her head back and laugh. The woman's profile was sharp, her hair short and chic.

At first, he didn't recognize her. He thought she was just another beautiful socialite.

Then, the woman turned slightly. The light hit her glasses-no, she wasn't wearing glasses. But the curve of her cheekbone...

Evelyn?

The name fell from his lips like a curse.

A surge of heat exploded in Alexander's chest. It was violent and unfamiliar. He told himself it was anger at her recklessness. Anger at the embarrassment she was causing the Vance name.

But as he watched the man's hand rest near the woman's bare shoulder, the anger tasted like acid. It tasted like jealousy.

He stormed up the stairs, brushing past the security guard who tried to stop him.

Mr. Vance, you can't-

Move, Alexander snarled.

He kicked the velvet rope aside and stepped onto the balcony.

The music seemed to fade into the background.

Evelyn saw him. She didn't jump. She didn't look guilty. She took a slow drag from the unlit cigarette and exhaled nothing but air.

Get out, Alexander commanded. He wasn't looking at Evelyn. He was looking at the men.

The hosts looked at each other, then at Evelyn.

Evelyn smiled lazily. She nodded. Give us a moment, boys.

The men filed out, sensing the violence in the air. It was just Evelyn, Sophie, Alexander, and Brandon.

Alexander stood over the table. His eyes raked over her. The short hair. The red lips. The dress that revealed more skin than he had seen in three years of marriage.

You're practically naked, he said. His voice was tight.

Evelyn swirled her champagne glass. I'm dressed for the occasion. And you are interrupting my evening.

We are going home, Alexander said. He reached out and grabbed her wrist. His grip was hard, possessive.

Evelyn looked at his hand on her skin. Then she looked up at his face.

I am not going anywhere with you, Alexander. I have my own ride.

She yanked her hand back. The movement was sharp.

Alexander's hand remained in the air, empty. He stared at her, and for the first time, he realized he didn't know the woman sitting in front of him at all.

Who paid for this? Alexander demanded, gesturing to the champagne. You didn't use my card.

Evelyn laughed softly. Is that what bothers you? That I can survive without your allowance?

It bothers me that my wife is acting like a...

Careful, Evelyn cut him off, her eyes flashing. You don't want to finish that sentence.

The tension on the balcony was thick enough to choke on. The bass from the club below thumped against the glass walls, a rhythmic heartbeat to the standoff.

Brandon Maxwell leaned against the railing, swirling his drink. He smirked, his eyes darting between Alexander and Evelyn. Trouble in paradise, Alex? I didn't think the mute wife had it in her to go rogue.

Alexander ignored him. His gaze was locked on Evelyn. Why are you doing this? Is this about the anniversary? I told you, Scarlett-

Alex?

The voice was soft, breathless, and laced with a practiced fragility.

Alexander stiffened. He turned around.

Scarlett Sharp stood at the entrance of the balcony. She was wearing a white dress, modest and high-necked, a stark contrast to Evelyn's emerald provocation. She clutched her chest slightly, her eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears.

Scarlett? Alexander's voice softened instantly. What are you doing here? You should be in bed.

Scarlett took a shaky step forward. I... I saw your location on the shared family app. I was worried. You seemed so stressed when you left the hospital earlier.

She looked at Evelyn. Her eyes flicked over the dress, the champagne, the hosts who were lingering nearby. A flash of pure, cold envy passed through her gaze, gone so quickly only Evelyn saw it.

Oh, Evelyn, Scarlett breathed, sounding heartbroken. How can you do this? Look at you... drinking, partying. You're embarrassing the family. After everything Alex has done for you.

Evelyn set her glass down. The sound of glass on marble was sharp.

The tracker dog arrives, Evelyn said. Her voice was dry, cutting through Scarlett's performance.

Scarlett gasped, taking a step back as if physically struck. She grabbed Alexander's arm for support. Alex... she's so cruel.

Alexander stepped between them, shielding Scarlett with his body. He glared at Evelyn. Watch your mouth, Evelyn. She is sick. She came here out of concern.

Evelyn laughed. It was a cold, humorless sound. Concern? She came here to mark her territory. Protecting your mistress already, Alexander? The ink isn't even dry on the divorce papers.

Alexander's jaw tightened. She is not my mistress. She is-

Your first love. Your priority. Your obsession, Evelyn finished for him. We know the script, Alex. It's boring.

Brandon chimed in, laughing. Come on, Evelyn. You know you don't belong here. Look at you, trying to play the femme fatale. You're a community college dropout. You wouldn't know high society if it hit you in the face. Go back to your art history books.

Evelyn shifted her gaze to Brandon. Her eyes were laser-focused.

And you, Brandon, are a trust fund baby who failed the bar exam twice, she said calmly. And I believe your father is currently investigating that 'misplacement' of funds from the Maxwell charity account.

Brandon's smirk vanished. His face turned a blotchy red. You little-

He took a step forward.

Scarlett let out a small, pained whimper. Alex... my heart... it's beating so fast.

Alexander's attention snapped back to Scarlett immediately. He turned his back on Evelyn. Deep breaths, Scarlett. I've got you.

He looked over his shoulder at Evelyn, his expression filled with disgust. You're causing a scene. You're hurting her. Are you happy now?

Evelyn stood up. She picked up her clutch.

She looked at Alexander, really looked at him. She saw the panic in his eyes for Scarlett. She saw the complete lack of regard for her.

She's hurting herself for attention, Alex. But you're too blind to see it. Fine. Ruin my night. I'm leaving.

She signaled to Sophie. Let's go.

Evelyn walked past Alexander. The space on the balcony was tight. As she squeezed past him, the hem of her silk dress brushed against his leg.

A scent wafted up from her skin.

It wasn't the floral, powdery perfume she used to wear-the one his mother had bought for her.

It was Santal, Jasmine, and a hint of woodsmoke.

Alexander froze.

The smell hit him like a physical blow. It triggered a memory-darkness, cold stone, the smell of damp earth. It was a comforting scent, one that he associated with safety in the midst of terror.

Strange, he thought. Why does she smell like... that?

For a split second, his mind tried to make a connection. But then Scarlett squeezed his hand, pulling him back to the present. Scarlett was the one who saved him. Scarlett was the one who had been there. Evelyn was just... Evelyn.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought as a trick of the alcohol and the heavy atmosphere.

Take me home, Alex, Scarlett whimpered. Please.

Alexander led her out.

Outside, the air was cold. As Evelyn stepped onto the sidewalk, a wall of white light blinded her.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

Paparazzi.

Mrs. Vance! Is it true you're divorcing?

Mrs. Vance! Who is the man in the photo?

Scarlett had tipped them off. Evelyn knew it.

Evelyn put on her sunglasses, despite the darkness. She turned to the cameras. She didn't hide. She didn't cower.

She smiled. A cold, mysterious smile.

No comment, she said.

She slipped into a yellow taxi, leaving the chaos, the flashing lights, and her husband behind.