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.

The hangover from the night before wasn't from alcohol. It was a hangover of rage.

Alexander sat in his corner office at Vance Global. The view of the skyline was usually his favorite thing, a reminder of his dominion over the city. Today, the grey clouds just reminded him of the empty side of his bed.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Brandon was lounging on the leather sofa, scrolling through his phone. She was feral last night, Alex. Absolutely feral. Who knew the mute wife had claws? And how the hell did she know about the charity account? My dad actually called me this morning asking questions.

Alexander ignored him. He was looking at the divorce settlement on his desk.

Petitioner waives all rights to spousal support.

Petitioner waives all rights to marital assets.

She wanted nothing.

It bothered him. If she had asked for half his fortune, he would have understood. That was a transaction. That was business. But asking for nothing? That was a statement. It meant she valued getting away from him more than she valued his billions.

His intercom buzzed.

Mr. Vance, his secretary's voice was crisp. Dean Ivanovich from Harvard Medical School is on line one.

Alexander straightened up. This was important.

Put him through.

He picked up the receiver. Dean Ivanovich. To what do I owe the pleasure?

The Dean's voice was serious, heavy with authority. Alexander. I'm calling about a favor. And a recommendation.

Go on, Alexander said.

We have a researcher. A ghost, really. Goes by the code name 'Oracle'. This person is the top of the field in neuro-regeneration. Their papers are revolutionizing how we treat nerve damage.

Alexander gripped the phone tighter. Neuro-regeneration? For... Scarlett's condition?

Scarlett's heart condition was complicated by nerve damage from the 'incident' in the mine three years ago. Or so the doctors said.

Potentially, the Dean said. But 'Oracle' is elusive. They don't take private clients. They don't do consults. I'm trying to set up a meeting for you.

Do it, Alexander commanded. Name the price.

One thing, the Dean added, hesitating slightly. The Oracle is... unconventional. Don't let your bias get in the way.

I don't care if the Oracle is a parrot, Alexander said. If they can fix Scarlett, I want them.

He hung up, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest.

Meanwhile, in the Guest Suite of the Vance Penthouse.

Evelyn sat at the small desk she had dragged near the window. The room was sparse, but she had transformed it into a command center. A secure laptop was open, displaying complex chemical formulas and anatomical diagrams.

She was wearing a silk robe, sipping black coffee. She hadn't left the apartment since the club, avoiding Alexander by staying behind the locked door of the guest wing.

An encrypted email popped up on her screen.

Sender: Dean Ivanovich.

Subject: Vance Inquiry.

Message: He is asking for you. He is desperate.

Evelyn stared at the screen. A small, dry smile touched her lips.

She typed back: Let him wait.

She closed the email and opened a file named "Project: Oracle."

Her phone rang. It wasn't the number Alexander had. It was a burner phone.

She answered. Speak.

Mentor? a nervous voice cracked on the other end. It was Professor Lin, the head of the Neurology Department at Sterling University Medical Center. A man in his fifties, terrified of a twenty-year-old.

The data on the Vance case is incomplete, Evelyn said, her voice dropping into a professional, commanding register. I reviewed the scans you uploaded to the secure server. You missed the scarring on the left ventricle.

I'm sorry, Mentor, Lin stammered. I... I will fix it.

Evelyn sighed, rubbing her temples. No. I'll come to the Medical Center tomorrow. Incognito. I need to see the raw data myself.

She hung up.

She stood up and walked to the bookshelf in the guest room. There, wedged between a few novels, was a textbook: Introduction to Art History.

She pulled it out. It was the prop she had carried around the penthouse for three years to convince Alexander she was simple. Harmless.

She looked at the cover.

She walked to the trash can and dropped it in.

The heavy thud of the book hitting the bottom of the bin echoed in the room.

The actress is retired, she whispered to the empty room. The Oracle is back.