Dayna POV:

Brooks remained infuriatingly calm. His lips, usually so still, barely moved. "What did you see, Dayna?" he asked, his voice even, devoid of any discernible emotion.

His composure was a fresh wound. It was as if he was mocking me, questioning my sanity. My feverish mind, already reeling, began to doubt itself. Had I imagined it? The kiss in the dark? The stolen tie pin? Was I just a jealous wife, prone to dramatic hallucinations?

Then, my gaze fell upon his pristine white shirt. Tucked into the collar, a faint smudge of crimson. Lipstick. Everleigh's vibrant red.

The truth, stark and undeniable, hit me with centrifugal force. It wasn't a fever dream. It was real. All of it.

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. "Nothing, Brooks. I must have been dreaming. The fever, you know. It makes you see things." My voice was brittle, thin.

A subtle easing of tension in his shoulders. He believed me. Or, rather, he believed I was retreating, as I always did, into my own world of words and stories. "Good," he said, his voice softening slightly. "I'm glad. Now, about the painting. I'm sorry about Ava's work. Everleigh... she needed it. For her portfolio. She's been struggling, you see, with her art, and she needed a boost of confidence."

My blood ran cold. Needed it? He was apologizing for her taking my sister's work? Not for the blatant theft, the desecration of Ava's memory, but for a "boost of confidence"?

He then pulled out his wallet, producing a pristine, blank check. "Here," he said, pressing it into my hand. "Compensation. Write down any amount you want. It's yours."

My hand trembled, not with fever, but with rage. A blank check. As if money could erase the betrayal. As if my sister's legacy, my heart, could be bought. I looked at the check, then at him, then back at the check. With a sudden, violent movement, I ripped it in half, the crisp paper tearing with a satisfying sound. Then I tore it again, and again, until it was nothing but confetti, fluttering to the floor.

Brooks stared, genuinely startled. A flicker of something, perhaps confusion, crossed his face. He had clearly not expected that.

"I don't need your money, Brooks," I said, my voice dangerously low. "I don't need compensation for my sister's art, and I certainly don't need it for my heart." I pulled the duvet up to my chin, turning my back to him, effectively shutting him out.

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. I could feel his gaze on my back, a silent question. He was expecting me to speak, to explain, to fill the void. But I had no words left for him. My well of chatter, once overflowing, was now bone dry.

He cleared his throat. "Dayna," he began, his voice hesitant, "if it's not money you want... perhaps a larger share in the company? I can arrange for a substantial stock transfer. It would secure your financial future, and... well, it would show my commitment."

Still, I didn't respond. My silence, usually a source of anxiety for me, now felt like a shield.

He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. "Or... we could have a child, Dayna."

My head snapped around. "A child?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. My memory replayed itself, a cruel reminder of his past words. A child? Dayna, we're not ready. It's too much responsibility. I'm too busy. Everleigh needs me.

"Now you want a child?" I asked, my voice laced with venom. "Now, when we're getting divorced? Now, when you've made it abundantly clear your priorities lie elsewhere?" My blood boiled. I grabbed the torn divorce papers from the bedside table, the ones he had signed so carelessly after rushing off to Everleigh, and threw them at him. They fluttered through the air, landing softly at his feet.

"We are divorced, Brooks!" I screamed, my voice raw with anguish. "D-I-V-O-R-C-E-D! I am not your incubator! I am not a broodmare! And I am certainly not going to have your child just so you can appease your grandfather and keep your precious Everleigh close! We are over!" I bit down hard on my lip, drawing blood. The metallic taste filled my mouth, a stark reminder of the pain he had inflicted.

Dayna POV:

Brooks froze. His body, usually so controlled, became rigid. His eyes fixed on the scattered pieces of the divorce papers at his feet. The color drained from his face as he finally, truly, saw them. Saw my signature, his signature, the official seals. The undeniable proof.

He bent to pick them up, his movements slow and deliberate, as if in a daze. But just as his fingers brushed the crumpled paper, his phone blared. The ringtone. Everleigh's special ringtone. A childish, tinkling melody that grated on my nerves.

His head snapped up. His eyes, now filled with a desperate urgency, darted to his phone, then back to the papers. Everleigh always came first. Always.

He snatched his phone, his thumb swiping across the screen. "Everleigh? What is it?" His voice was laced with a frantic anxiety I had never heard directed at me. "I'm coming. Don't worry. I'll be right there."

He didn't even look at me. He just grabbed his jacket, already half out the door. "Dayna," he mumbled, his voice rushed, "I have to go. Everleigh needs me. We'll talk about this later. Don't... don't do anything rash."

Rash. The irony was a bitter pill. He was talking about divorce papers he' d already signed, about a marriage he' d already broken. I watched him go, the door clicking shut behind him. He hadn't even looked at the contents of the papers, hadn't even processed the finality of it. Everleigh's call was an emergency. My heartbreak was a "talk about this later."

A cold, hard laugh bubbled up from my chest. It was almost comical. He hadn't even bothered to read the document that severed our ties. It was just another piece of paper, easily dismissed in the face of Everleigh's latest crisis.

I got out of bed, my foot still aching, but my mind clear of any lingering doubts. I calmly collected the scattered pieces of the divorce papers, smoothed them out as best I could, and placed them in a small, locked box in my closet. The cooling-off period was almost over. I just had to wait.

Days turned into a week. Brooks didn't come home. His presence, or rather, his absence, was a palpable void. He was with Everleigh, of course. Tending to her latest manufactured crisis. I heard whispers from the staff-Everleigh's engagement to the Sterling heir had been called off. Another scandal. Another reason for Brooks to be by her side, consoling her, protecting her.

Then, one evening, he returned. He burst through the door, his face flushed, his eyes blazing, a storm cloud of fury unleashed.

"What did you do, Dayna?" he roared, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "What did you do to Everleigh?"

I looked at him, surprised. A quiet, almost serene smile touched my lips. "To Everleigh? I haven't done anything to Everleigh, Brooks. I've been here, quietly waiting for our divorce to be finalized."

My voice was calm, almost detached. And the sight of my composure seemed to enrage him further. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me! Everleigh just called. She's been arrested! For theft!"

He paused, a triumphant sneer on his face. "And she said you put her up to it. Convinced her to 'borrow' a painting from a gallery, just to get back at me."

His words were a whirlwind of accusations, a frantic torrent of sound. He was talking. So much. More than he had ever talked to me. And it was all for Everleigh. All about her. My heart, which I thought was numb, pulsed with a fresh wave of pain.

"She said that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "She said I put her up to it?"

"Yes!" he thundered. "She's in a holding cell right now, terrified! Do you have any idea what this could do to her? To us? To the family's reputation?"

Dayna POV:

The absurdity of his accusation was almost laughable. Me? Putting Everleigh up to stealing a painting? I had been heartbroken, yes, but never malicious. He truly knew nothing about me.

"Are you insane?" I shot back, my voice rising. "Why would I do something like that? And why would Everleigh listen to me, of all people? She despises me!"

He took a step closer, his hands clamping down on my shoulders, his grip tight, almost bruising. "Don't play coy, Dayna! I know you're upset. But this is not the way to handle it. You think you can hurt me by hurting Everleigh?"

I struggled against his grip, but he held me fast. "Let go of me, Brooks! You're hurting me!"

He ignored my plea. "You will go to the precinct right now. You will tell them the painting was a gift from you. A misunderstanding. Say whatever you need to, but get her out of there!"

My blood ran cold. He wanted me to lie. To take the fall. To protect Everleigh, again. The ultimate betrayal. My sister's legacy, once more, trampled underfoot for Everleigh's convenience.

"No," I said, my voice trembling with defiance. "I won't. I won't lie for her. I won't protect her. She has to face the consequences of her actions."

His eyes blazed with a fury I had never witnessed. "You will, Dayna. You will do this for me. For us." His voice dropped, a dangerous edge to it. "Or there will be consequences."

A sudden, primal rage surged through me. I brought my teeth down hard on his arm, biting him with all my might. He cried out, a guttural sound, and released me. A faint line of blood appeared on his forearm.

He looked at the mark, then back at me, his eyes narrowed. "You really are determined to be difficult, aren't you?" He shook his head, a chilling certainty in his voice. "Fine. If you won't do it willingly, I'll make you."

"I'll kill myself first!" I screamed, the words a desperate, empty threat.

He scoffed. A cold, dismissive sound. "No, you won't, Dayna. You're too much of a talker to ever be truly silent. You're too full of life to end it. Besides," he leaned in close, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, "you love me too much. You would never do anything to truly hurt me."

His words, meant to wound, had the opposite effect. A sudden, terrifying clarity washed over me. He was right. I wouldn't kill myself. I wouldn't. Because he wasn't worth it. And in that moment, something shifted inside me. The desperation, the clinging love, began to curdle into a cold, hard resolve. I would leave him. I would reclaim myself.

"You're right," I said, my voice surprisingly calm. "I won't kill myself."

A flicker of triumph crossed his face. He thought he had won. He thought he had broken me.

"But I'm not going to the precinct," I continued, my voice gaining strength. "And I'm not doing anything for you, or for Everleigh, ever again." With a fierce shove, I pushed him away.

He stumbled back, his face paling. The look in his eyes was pure, unadulterated rage. He punched a fist against the wall, a sickening thud. "Fine, Dayna! You want to play hardball? We'll play hardball!" He pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen. "Jenkins! Get over here! Now! And prepare the isolation room. Our esteemed Mrs. Preston needs some time to reflect."

He turned back to me, his eyes cold and hard. "You think you can defy me? You think you can walk away? You'll stay here, Dayna. Until you learn your place. Until you agree to do what's necessary." He walked out, his parting words echoing in the sudden silence. "And don't even think about trying to escape. Every door, every window, is locked. Consider this your personal rehabilitation."