Haleigh didn't go to the shower immediately. Instead, she moved to her vanity table, situated directly across from the closet door.

She sat down and began to slowly, methodically remove her jewelry.

Clink. Her watch hit the glass surface.

Clatter. Her earrings followed.

Gray was still standing guard by the closet, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looked like a statue threatening to crumble.

"Aren't you going to sleep in the guest room?" Haleigh asked, watching him in the mirror. She picked up a cotton pad and began to wipe off her lipstick. "You know I snore when I'm jet-lagged. I need the bed to myself."

"I... I missed you," Gray stammered. "I want to be near you."

He couldn't leave. If he left, Brylee would try to escape, and Haleigh might see her. He was trapped.

Haleigh shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She stood up and walked over to the nightstand. The glass of milk was still there.

"Oh, milk!" she exclaimed. "I'm parched."

She picked up the glass.

"Wait!" Gray reached out. "That's... that's old. I poured it hours ago."

"It's fine," Haleigh said. She brought the glass to her lips and downed it in one long swallow. She wiped a white mustache from her upper lip. "Tastes rich. Whole milk? You usually drink skim."

"I... I'm trying to bulk up," Gray lied. His eyes were darting around the room like a cornered rat.

Haleigh stretched, her arms reaching toward the ceiling. "God, it is freezing in here. Why is the AC so low?"

She walked over to the wall-mounted thermostat.

"Haleigh, no, it's fine-"

She pressed the button. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The digital display climbed. 72... 80... 90... She stopped at a sweltering 98 degrees Fahrenheit.

"Doctor said I need to keep my temperature up," she lied smoothly. "Circulation issues."

The heat kicked on with a low rumble.

The walk-in closet was a sealed box, custom-built with cedar lining and extra insulation to protect her fur coats. No windows. No vents. With the bedroom heating up, it would become an oxygen-starved sauna within minutes.

Haleigh stripped off her clothes, changing into a silk nightgown right in front of Gray. She climbed into bed and grabbed the remote.

She turned on the TV. A loud action movie. Explosions and car chases filled the room.

"Gray," she said, patting the foot of the bed. "My feet are killing me. Rub them?"

Gray looked at the closet. He looked at the door. He looked at Haleigh. Defeated, he sat down and began to massage her feet. His hands were clammy.

Ten minutes passed. The room was getting stiflingly hot.

Thump.

A soft sound came from the closet. Like a body shifting against wood.

Haleigh sat bolt upright. "What was that?"

She grabbed a heavy brass lamp from the bedside table. "Is there someone in there? A burglar?"

She made a move to get out of bed.

Gray practically tackled her. "No! No! It was me! I kicked the bed frame!"

Haleigh looked at him, wide-eyed. "You are so clumsy tonight, Gray."

She pushed him away. "You know what? You're annoying me. You're fidgeting, you're sweating... go sleep in the guest room."

"But-"

"Out!" Haleigh pointed to the door. "I need sleep. Go."

Gray stood up. He looked at the closet door with desperate, apologetic eyes. He mouthed something that looked like Wait.

Then he walked out of the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Haleigh was out of bed. She marched to the door and turned the lock. Click.

She went back to the bed and turned off the TV.

Silence descended. Heavy, hot silence.

The temperature in the room was suffocating. She could only imagine what it was like inside the closet amongst the wool and velvet.

Haleigh lay down in the dark. She stared at the closet door.

She heard a ragged inhale. Then a soft, muffled sob.

Brylee was crying. She was trapped, hot, terrified, and probably needing to pee, given her condition.

Haleigh adjusted her pillow. She felt a profound sense of peace.

"Goodnight, rat," she whispered into the darkness.

She put on her noise-canceling headphones and closed her eyes.

Morning light filtered through the heavy curtains. Haleigh woke up refreshed.

She took her time. She stretched. She went into the bathroom and showered loudly, singing opera off-key.

Only after she was fully dressed did she unlock the bedroom door. She left it wide open and went downstairs.

She didn't look back at the closet. She knew Brylee would scramble out the moment the coast was clear.

In the dining room, Gray was sitting at the head of the table. He looked like he hadn't slept. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was furiously texting under the table.

Haleigh poured herself a coffee. "Morning, darling."

Five minutes later, Brylee walked in.

She looked wrecked. Her hair was frizzy, her makeup was caked on in an attempt to hide dark circles, and her skin had a greyish tint. She was wearing a different dress than the night before-one of Haleigh's old ones that she must have grabbed from the closet.

"Brylee!" Haleigh exclaimed, setting her cup down loud enough to make them jump. "You're here early! Did you sleep over?"

Brylee flinched. "I... yes. In the guest house. I had insomnia."

"You look terrible," Haleigh said sympathetically. "Puffy eyes. Dehydrated."

The doorbell rang. The maid opened it, and Mr. and Mrs. Cooley swept in.

Mrs. Cooley looked immaculate in white tweed. She ignored Haleigh and kissed Gray on the cheek.

They all sat down. The tension was thick enough to choke on.

Mr. Cooley didn't waste time on pleasantries. He cut into his steak with surgical precision.

"Haleigh," he said without looking up. "We need to discuss Zenith."

Haleigh put down her fork. "Yes?"

" The Board feels you are overextended," Mr. Cooley said. "We've decided to bring Brylee in as a co-manager. To assist."

Brylee feigned surprise, pressing a hand to her chest. "Oh, Arthur, I'm just an art dealer. I don't know architecture."

"Management isn't about drawing pretty lines," Mrs. Cooley snapped. "It's about people skills. Haleigh is too... fragile lately."

"Fragile?" Haleigh repeated.

"We need stability," Gray chimed in, avoiding her eyes. "For the family. So you can focus on... trying for a baby."

At the mention of the baby, Brylee subconsciously smoothed her hand over her stomach. She shot Haleigh a look of pure, venomous triumph.

Haleigh saw the game. They wanted her out. They wanted the project, the money, and the credit.

"Zenith's contracts are tied to me as the lead architect," Haleigh said calmly. "If you remove me, the clients can walk."

"You are a Cooley," Mr. Cooley said, his voice dropping an octave. "Your name is an asset. We own it."

Haleigh looked around the table. The greedy faces. The lies.

She leaned back. "I'll step down."

The relief in the room was palpable. Gray let out a breath he'd been holding.

"However," Haleigh continued, holding up a finger. "I have a condition."

"Name it," Gray said quickly.

"I want the deed to the warehouse on Dowling Street. The old textile factory."

Mr. Cooley frowned. "That rusted heap? It's a liability. It's full of asbestos and squatters."

"I have a sentimental attachment to it," Haleigh lied. "I want to turn it into a private studio. Somewhere I can paint."

Mr. Cooley did the math in his head instantly. Zenith was worth hundreds of millions. The warehouse was a tax write-off worth maybe fifty grand.

"Done," Mr. Cooley said. "Transfer the Zenith signature authority to Brylee today. You get your pile of bricks."

Haleigh smiled. She took a sip of her coffee to hide the predatory glint in her eyes.

Hjalmer Barrett had told her that the Dowling Street warehouse sat directly in the path of the new high-speed rail line Barrett Holdings was announcing next month. Its value was about to skyrocket by four thousand percent.

"To family," Haleigh said, raising her mug.

She watched them drink, knowing they had just signed their own financial death warrants.

The clinking of silverware resumed, but Mrs. Cooley wasn't finished. She dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin, her eyes cold and hard like marbles.

"Since you have so much free time now," she said, her voice dripping with disdain, "maybe you can actually focus on your one job. Providing an heir."

Haleigh's hand tightened on her knife.

"Three years, Haleigh," Mrs. Cooley continued. "And nothing. The Cooley name needs a future, not a decorative vase that sits on the shelf."

Gray kept his head down, shoveling eggs into his mouth. Coward.

Haleigh looked at Brylee. Brylee was smirking, looking down at her belly again.

"Actually," Haleigh said, her voice cutting through the insults. "I've been thinking about that. With all the rumors lately... I think we need to make a statement."

"What kind of statement?" Gray asked nervously.

"A Vow Renewal," Haleigh announced.

Brylee choked on her water. Her fork clattered against the china.

"A what?" Mrs. Cooley looked disgusted.

"A Vow Renewal Ceremony," Haleigh repeated firmly. "Next month. We need to show the world how strong our marriage is. Especially with me stepping back from Zenith. People will talk. We need a unified front."

"That's expensive," Mrs. Cooley scoffed. "And unnecessary. Get pregnant first."

Haleigh stood up. The legs of her chair scraped violently against the hardwood floor.

"My trust fund built the East Wing of this house," Haleigh said, her voice rising. "My salary pays for the yacht maintenance. I am asking for a party. Is that too much?"

Mrs. Cooley's face flushed red. "How dare you speak to me like that?"

Haleigh ignored her. She turned her gaze to Gray.

"If there is no ceremony," she said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "I don't sign the Zenith transfer papers."

The threat hung in the air.

Gray looked at his father. Mr. Cooley gave a barely perceptible nod. They needed that signature.

"Okay," Gray said, standing up to placate her. "Okay, babe. We'll do it. A big party. Next month."

"Good," Haleigh said. "I want it to be perfect."

She turned and walked out of the dining room.

"Haleigh, wait!" Inez, the housekeeper, tried to stop her at the foot of the stairs, looking worried.

"Move," Haleigh snapped. She pushed past the woman and ran up the stairs.

She could hear Mrs. Cooley screaming obscenities downstairs.

Haleigh entered the bedroom and locked the door. She leaned against the wood, her chest heaving. She wasn't scared. She was exhilarated.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Unknown Number: Mr. Barrett is pleased. He will meet you tomorrow to discuss the "arrangements" for the ceremony.

It was from Kane's assistant.

Haleigh looked at the wall. A large, framed photo of her and Gray on their wedding day hung there. They looked so happy. So fake.

She walked over to it, grabbed the frame with both hands, and ripped it off the wall.

She threw it.

It hit the floor with a satisfying crash. Glass shattered, scattering across the rug like diamonds.

The fracture line ran right through Gray's smiling face.