Easton woke up with a pounding headache. His hand groped the bedside table for the glass of water and two aspirin that were always there.

His hand hit empty wood.

He frowned, peeling his eyes open. The room was bright with morning sun. The curtains hadn't been drawn. There was no water. No aspirin. No smell of coffee wafting from downstairs.

"Althea!" he croaked.

Silence.

He kicked off the covers, irritation flaring. "Althea!"

He stomped into the bathroom. No fresh towels laid out. The toothpaste tube was uncapped.

"Unbelievable," he muttered. "She's actually taking this strike seriously."

He pulled on a robe and went downstairs. The scene in the kitchen was chaos.

Holt was sitting in his high chair, screaming. A bowl of cereal had been overturned on the floor, milk pooling around the table legs. Mrs. Higgins, the elderly housekeeper who came in on weekdays, was looking flustered, trying to clean up the mess with paper towels.

"I want pancakes!" Holt shrieked, kicking his legs. "Mommy makes dinosaur pancakes!"

Eleanor was sitting at the island, clutching a cup of tea like a lifeline. "Make the boy stop crying, Easton. My migraine is splitting."

"Where is Althea?" Easton demanded, ignoring his son.

Mrs. Higgins looked up, her face pale. "She... she's not here, sir. Her side of the bed wasn't slept in."

Easton froze. He checked his phone. No texts. No missed calls.

"She actually left," Eleanor scoffed. "Probably at a hotel, waiting for you to call and apologize. Don't give in, Easton. It sets a bad precedent."

Holt threw a spoon across the room. "I want Mommy G!"

Easton rubbed his face. "Holt, stop it."

Holt grabbed his iPad from the table. His little fingers swiped expertly. A moment later, a video call tone chimed.

"Hi, buddy!" Georgina's face filled the screen. She was in bed, wearing a silk sleep mask pushed up on her forehead, looking effortlessly glamorous.

"Mommy G!" Holt stopped crying instantly. "Daddy won't give me pancakes. And the Nanny is gone."

Georgina's eyes widened. "Oh no, poor baby. Is Althea still acting out? That is so irresponsible, leaving a child like that."

Easton stepped into the frame. "She's gone, G. Took a suitcase."

"Oh, Easton," Georgina's voice dripped with sympathy. "I'm so sorry. She's clearly unstable. Who abandons their family?"

"Can you come over?" Holt pleaded. "Please?"

Georgina bit her lip, looking at Easton through the screen. "I have a spa appointment... but for you, my brave boys? I'll be there in an hour."

Easton felt a wave of relief. "Thank you, Georgina. You're a lifesaver."

He hung up. He tried calling Althea again.

The number you have reached is not in service.

He stared at the phone. She hadn't just turned it off. She had disconnected the line.

"Fine," Easton slammed the phone onto the counter, cracking the screen protector. "You want to play hardball? Let's see how you like sleeping on the street."

Across the city, in a glass-walled breakroom on the 40th floor of the Morrison Institute, Althea took a sip of black coffee. It was hot, strong, and exactly how she liked it-not the weak latte she drank to be polite to Easton.

She was wearing a white lab coat. It felt like armor.

Bret Morrison walked in, carrying a bag of bagels. He looked tired but energized. He was tall, with the same dark eyes as Althea, but his were harder, worn down by years of running a billion-dollar empire.

"You sleep okay in the guest suite?" he asked, tossing a bagel to her.

"Better than I have in five years," Althea said. She caught the bagel one-handed.

"HR has your badge ready. Security clearance Level 5. Only you and I have access to the core data." Bret sat down opposite her. "Are you sure you want to start today? You can take a week. Go to the villa in Como."

"No," Althea said. "I need to work. My brain feels like it's been atrophying."

She pulled her new phone out of her pocket. It was on Do Not Disturb mode. The screen showed 15 blocked notifications from the Harrington landline.

She swiped them away without reading them.

"Besides," she said, biting into the bagel. "I have a lot of catching up to do. Dr. Fuller's heart drug data... I looked at it last night. There's a variance in the beta-blocker sequence."

Bret grinned. It was a sharp, wolfish grin. "That's my sister. Welcome home, Allie."

Three days later, Althea received a text on her new number.

Georgina: We need to talk. For Holt's sake. Meet me at Le Coucou. 2 PM.

Althea stared at the screen. She knew she shouldn't go. But the mention of Holt-even though she was trying to sever that cord-still tugged at her. And she needed to make sure the divorce papers actually reached Easton. She didn't trust him to have opened the folder she left.

Le Coucou was crowded with the lunch rush of Manhattan's elite. Georgina was seated at a prime window table, a tiered tray of pastries in front of her. She was snapping photos of a macaron for her Instagram story.

Althea walked in. She was wearing dark jeans, a crisp white button-down, and loafers. No makeup. Her hair was down, loose and wavy.

Georgina looked up, phone poised. Her eyes widened slightly, perhaps surprised that Althea didn't look like a wreck.

"Althea! Darling!" Georgina stood up to offer a cheek kiss, but Althea sat down, ignoring the gesture.

"Cut the act, Georgina," Althea said. "What do you want?"

Georgina sat back down, her smile turning brittle. "You look... tired. Easton is worried sick, you know. He thinks you're having a breakdown."

"I'm sure he does." Althea reached into her tote bag. She pulled out a thick manila envelope. "Give this to him."

Georgina eyed the envelope. "What is it? A love letter? Begging to come back?"

"It's the divorce agreement. The original copy. I doubt he read the one I left."

Georgina's eyes lit up. A genuine, malicious spark. She reached out and took the envelope, her manicured nails tapping against the paper.

"You're really doing it," she whispered. "You're handing him to me."

"He was never mine, was he?" Althea signaled the waiter for an iced water. "You've been working on this since the day you 'accidentally' spilled coffee on him in the lobby."

Georgina laughed. She dropped the pretense. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. "You were always so boring, Althea. So domestic. Easton needs a partner, a power player. Not a glorified housekeeper. I did you a favor. Now you can go back to... whatever trailer park you crawled out of."

Althea felt a bubble of laughter rise in her chest. It was absurd. If only Georgina knew.

"Make sure he signs it," Althea said, standing up. "And Georgina? Be careful what you wish for. He's a lot of work."

She walked out.

Georgina watched her go. Once Althea was out the door, Georgina opened the envelope. She scanned the document. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the "retain own assets" clause.

No money? Georgina thought. That won't do. If she leaves with nothing, Easton might feel guilty. He might pity her. That pity could turn into lingering affection.

Georgina pulled a pen from her Hermes bag. She found the page detailing the financial settlement. With a steady hand, she crossed out a line and scribbled in the margin: Demand: $10 million lump sum for emotional distress & a gag order.

She smiled. Easton would be furious. He would see this not as a demand, but as blackmail. He would hate Althea for it.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Easton.

"Easton?" she sobbed, her voice breaking perfectly. "I just saw her. She was horrible. She... she said the first agreement was a trick. She gave me this new one and threatened to go to the press with stories about you if you don't pay her ten million dollars."

The security guard at the Morrison Institute lobby frowned at Althea's ID.

"Name?"

"Althea," she said. Just Althea.

"I don't see a last name here, miss."

"Scan it," she said.

He scanned the card. The light on the turnstile flashed a distinct, urgent purple-the color for Executive Access. The guard's eyes popped. He looked at her jeans, then back at the screen which read PRIORITY LEVEL: ALPHA.

"S-sorry, ma'am. Go right ahead."

Althea walked through the lobby. The scent of antiseptic and ozone was better than any perfume. She took the elevator to the top floor.

Bret was in the middle of a board meeting. The glass walls of the conference room allowed everyone to see Althea approach. Bret stopped mid-sentence. He stood up and waved her in.

The board members turned, confused.

"Gentlemen," Bret said. "I'd like you to meet our new Senior Researcher. This is Althea."

He didn't say Morrison. Althea had asked him not to. She wanted to earn her place, not inherit it.

"A researcher?" One of the older men scoffed. "She looks like she's twelve."

Althea didn't blink. "And you look like you have early-stage hepatic lipidosis based on the yellowing of your sclera, Mr. Henderson. You might want to cut down on the scotch."

The room went dead silent.

Bret coughed to hide a laugh. "Meeting adjourned."

Later, in Bret's office, he was pacing.

"I can destroy him, Allie. One phone call. I pull the funding for Harrington's medical supply chain. He'll be bankrupt in a month."

"No," Althea said, looking out at the city view. "I don't want you to fight my battles. I want to build something so undeniable that he realizes what he lost on his own."

Her phone rang. It was a restricted number. She answered.

"You thief!" Eleanor's voice shrieked. "Where is the receipt for my vintage Chanel coat? The dry cleaner says you dropped it off!"

Althea held the phone away from her ear. "I don't work for you anymore, Eleanor. Check your own pockets."

"I will call the police! I will have you arrested!"

"Do it," Althea said calmly. "I'd love to explain to the police how you treat your staff. And your family."

She hung up and blocked the number.

"Ready for the lab?" Bret asked gently.

"More than ready."

They went down to the clean rooms. The hum of the sequencers was music. Althea walked over to a workstation where a young man was frowning at a monitor.

"Problem?" she asked.

"Yeah, the protein folding simulation keeps crashing at 98%," he muttered, not looking up.

Althea leaned over his shoulder. She tapped a few keys. "Your algorithm is assuming a linear decay. It's exponential. Change the variable here."

The man typed it in. The bar shot to 100%. Success.

He spun around, jaw dropping. "Who are you?"

Althea smiled, putting on her safety goggles. "I'm the new admin assistant."