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.