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.

The interior of the Aston Martin was wrapped in hand-stitched leather and silence. Alexander drove with a heavy foot, the engine growling as he weaved through the Manhattan traffic.

Scarlett sat in the passenger seat. She was dressed for the charity gala in a shimmering silver gown, diamonds dripping from her ears. She looked perfect.

She reached over and placed her hand on Alexander's thigh. Her fingers curled slightly, digging into the fabric of his trousers.

Alex, she purred. Now that she's asking for a divorce... we can finally be public.

Alexander stared at the road. The red taillights of the car in front of him blurred slightly.

He felt... crowded.

Usually, he craved Scarlett's touch. He had spent three years pining for it, respecting the boundaries of his marriage to Evelyn. Now, the boundary was gone. He should be happy.

Instead, he felt an urge to brush her hand away.

Not yet, Scarlett, he said. His voice was distant. The press is watching. The divorce isn't finalized. She's still living in the penthouse, technically. It looks messy.

Scarlett pouted. She withdrew her hand slowly, dragging her nails lightly against his leg. You used to risk everything for me. You used to say you'd burn the world down to be with me.

Alexander tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The leather creaked.

He thought of Evelyn at the club. The green dress. The cold eyes. The way she had looked at him-not with love, not with hate, but with indifference.

Things are complicated, he muttered.

Scarlett's eyes darkened. She sensed the shift. She was a master of reading him.

You're not thinking about her, are you? she asked, her voice sharpening. That nobody? That placeholder?

Alexander slammed on the brakes as the light turned red. The car jerked to a halt.

She's not a nobody, he snapped. The defense came out automatically, surprising him. She was my wife for three years.

Scarlett recoiled, pressing herself against the door. She played the victim instantly. I'm sorry. I just... I just want you to be happy. I'm so afraid of losing you.

Alexander sighed. I know. I'm sorry.

Meanwhile, Evelyn was sitting in a quiet café near the hospital, her laptop open.

Her phone pinged. A notification from "Connect"-the messaging app everyone used.

Friend Request: A_Vance.

Evelyn stared at the screen. The profile picture was a generic landscape, but she knew the handle.

A message was attached: We need to talk about the settlement. Unblock my number.

Evelyn looked at the words.

She remembered the nights she had waited for a text from him. Just a "Coming home late" or "Goodnight." She had stared at her phone until her eyes burned.

She felt a flicker of satisfaction. The tables had turned.

She pressed Ignore.

Then, she went to his profile settings.

Block User.

Confirm Block?

Yes.

Back in the car, Alexander's phone was mounted on the dashboard. He saw the notification flash.

Message Failed. User not found.

He frowned. He tapped the screen. Message Failed.

He refreshed the page. Evelyn's profile picture disappeared. Replaced by a generic grey avatar. The status line read: Unable to connect.

She blocked me?

He said it out loud. The disbelief was palpable.

She blocked me?

His ego took a massive hit. No one blocked Alexander Vance. People begged for his attention.

Who blocked you? Scarlett asked sweetly, leaning over.

No one, Alexander lied quickly. He turned the screen off. Just spam.

He pulled up to the entrance of the Met Gala. The red carpet was swarming with photographers.

I'm not coming in, Alexander said.

Scarlett froze, her hand on the door handle. What? But... this is our debut.

I have work, Alexander said, his voice hard. I have to find this 'Oracle' researcher. It's for your health, Scarlett.

He didn't wait for her to argue.

Go. You look beautiful. Have fun.

Scarlett got out, her face a mask of fury that she quickly hid behind a smile for the cameras.

Alexander watched her walk away. He didn't feel a pull to follow her.

He put the car in gear and drove off. He wasn't going to the office.

He was going to find a way to make Evelyn talk to him.