Alondra threw off the duvet. Her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor.

She ran to the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the walk-in closet.

The woman staring back at her was twenty-four. Her skin was flawless. There were no bruises, no cuts, no blood.

She pinched the soft skin of her forearm. Hard.

A sharp sting radiated up her arm. It wasn't a dream. The pain was real. The air in her lungs was real.

A loud bang echoed through the room.

The heavy bedroom door was shoved open, hitting the wall behind it.

Gerard stood in the doorway. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes held that same familiar, freezing disgust.

He tugged at his tie, a gesture he always made when she annoyed him.

"Why the hell did you call Cecil last night?" Gerard demanded. His voice was a low growl. "Are you out of your mind?"

Hearing that name sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through Alondra's veins. The memory of the crushed Porsche and his cold stare through the Maybach window flashed in her mind.

She didn't cry. She didn't beg.

She just stared at him. Her face was completely devoid of emotion.

Gerard frowned. His brow furrowed slightly. He stepped further into the room. This wasn't her usual reaction. He expected tears. He expected a hysterical apology.

"If you ever harass her again," Gerard warned, pointing a finger at her, "I will end this marriage immediately."

Alondra's lips twitched. A short, dry laugh escaped her throat.

"I agree," Alondra said. Her voice was steady and clear. "Let's divorce."

Gerard froze. His hand dropped to his side. He stared at her, waiting for the punchline.

When she didn't take it back, a sneer curled his upper lip.

"Is this your new game?" Gerard scoffed. "You think threatening me will get my attention? Fine. Play your little game. Get the hell out of my apartment."

Alondra turned her back on him.

She walked over to the top shelf of the closet and yanked down a black leather suitcase. It hit the floor with a heavy thud.

She unzipped it. She grabbed a handful of her basic t-shirts, jeans, and a few business suits. She tossed them inside.

She walked right past the velvet display cases holding the diamond necklaces Gerard had bought her. She ignored the row of custom haute couture dresses.

Gerard watched her fluid, efficient movements. The sneer on his face slowly stiffened.

"You won't last a day outside without the Arnold name," Gerard mocked. His voice was louder now.

Alondra grabbed the zipper and pulled it shut. The sharp metallic sound cut off his words.

She grabbed the handle, popped it up, and walked over to him. She looked at him the way one looks at a dead rat on the sidewalk.

"My lawyer will contact you on Monday," Alondra said.

She walked past him, her shoulder brushing his arm, and headed straight for the living room.

Arthur, the head butler, was standing by the marble kitchen island, arranging white lilies in a vase. He dropped a stem when he saw her dragging the suitcase.

"Mrs. Arnold?" Arthur stammered. "Are you leaving? Should I call the driver?"

Alondra stopped. She offered the old man a polite smile.

"Goodbye, Arthur," she said. "And please, don't call me Mrs. Arnold anymore."

Gerard stormed out of the bedroom. He stood at the end of the hallway, his face flushed dark red.

"If you walk out that door, you are never coming back!" Gerard roared. His fists were clenched at his sides.

Alondra didn't even break her stride.

She reached the heavy oak front door, pulled the handle, and stepped out into the private elevator lobby.

She let the door slam shut behind her. The massive boom echoed in the hallway, cutting off Gerard's voice completely.

The heavy oak door clicked shut. Alondra didn't look back.

She walked out of the luxury building and raised her hand. A yellow cab pulled over immediately.

"Long Island," she told the driver, sliding into the cracked leather seat.

An hour later, the cab pulled up to the grand entrance of a high-end luxury hotel. The doorman tipped his hat and opened her door.

Alondra walked straight to the front desk. She pulled out a black credit card-the one linked to her personal trust fund, completely separate from the Arnold accounts.

"Your best suite," she told the clerk.

Once inside the massive room, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower. She turned the water as hot as she could stand. The scalding spray turned her skin pink, washing away the lingering scent of Gerard's cologne.

She stepped out, dried off, and put on a sharp, tailored black business suit she had packed.

She sat down in the leather chair by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the ocean. She picked up her phone and dialed a Manhattan number.

An hour later, she pushed open the glass doors of a top-tier family law firm in Midtown.

A senior partner handed her a cup of black coffee across a polished mahogany desk. "What are your terms, Ms. Lang?"

Alondra took a sip. The bitter liquid burned her tongue.

"Strict enforcement of the prenuptial agreement," Alondra said. "I waive all rights to alimony. I want zero dollars from the Arnold estate. I just want the marriage dissolved as fast as legally possible."

The lawyer blinked, stunned by her bluntness. He quickly turned to his computer and began typing furiously.

Twenty minutes later, the printer spit out a thick stack of papers. The terms were brutal, leaving no room for negotiation or reconciliation.

Alondra flipped to the last page. She grabbed a pen and signed her name with aggressive, sweeping strokes.

"Send this to Gerard's office immediately," Alondra instructed, sliding the papers back. "Hand-deliver it to him."

Across the city, in the top-floor boardroom of the Arnold Global building, the air was suffocatingly tense.

Gerard sat at the head of the long glass table. His face was a mask of cold fury as he listened to a terrified VP give a quarterly report.

The heavy boardroom doors opened. Leland Vance, Gerard's executive assistant, hurried in. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Leland walked up to Gerard and leaned down, handing him a thick manila envelope with a law firm's logo stamped on the front.

Gerard frowned. He ripped the seal open and pulled out the document.

The words "Divorce Agreement" stared back at him.

His pupils contracted. He flipped directly to the back page. There it was. Alondra's signature. Crisp. Unhesitating.

The executives around the table stopped talking. They exchanged nervous glances as the temperature in the room plummeted.

A hot, irrational anger flared in Gerard's chest. She was actually trying to push his limits. She thought this piece of paper would make him chase her.

He scoffed. He grabbed the thick stack of papers with both hands.

With a violent jerk, he ripped the entire document in half. The loud tearing sound echoed sharply in the silent room.

He threw the shredded pieces into the metal trash can by his feet.

He turned his glaring eyes to Leland. "If that firm sends anything else, reject it at the front desk."

"Yes, sir," Leland stammered, taking a step back and wiping his brow.

Gerard turned his attention back to the VP, but the words blurred. His mind kept flashing back to the image of Alondra pulling that suitcase out the door.

He yanked at his tie, loosening it roughly. He slammed his palm flat against the glass table.

"Meeting suspended," Gerard snapped.

The executives scrambled out of the boardroom like escaping mice.

At that exact moment, Alondra's black heels clicked against the polished marble floor of the Arnold Global ground-floor lobby.

She walked straight toward the VIP elevator bank. Two massive security guards stepped into her path, blocking the scanners.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the taller guard said, his face blank. "The system shows your access card was deactivated thirty minutes ago."

Alondra let out a cold laugh. Gerard was throwing a tantrum. It was pathetic.

She didn't argue. She took a step back, pulled her phone from her purse, and dialed Leland's direct line.

It rang four times before Leland answered. His voice was clipped and professional. "Mr. Arnold's office."

"Tell security to let me up, Leland," Alondra said.

"Mrs. Arnold," Leland sighed, sounding annoyed. "Mr. Arnold is in a very important meeting. He is not seeing anyone today."

Alondra didn't raise her voice. She simply read an address. "Apt 4B. 1290 Bedford Avenue, Brooklyn."

The line went dead silent. Leland stopped breathing.

Alondra continued, her tone freezing over. "Would you like me to describe the exact shade of the silk tie you wore that evening, Leland? Or perhaps I should just forward this address and Sarah Jenkins' name directly to Arnold Global's internal audit and compliance department. Come down here and get me. Now."

"I'll be right there." The line clicked dead.

Three minutes later, the VIP elevator doors slid open. Leland jogged out. His face was pale, and his suit jacket was unbuttoned.

He waved frantically at the security guards. "She's cleared. Let her through."

Alondra stepped into the elevator. Leland followed, keeping his distance. The doors slid shut.

Inside the small metal box, Leland stared at his shoes. He was sweating profusely.

"Keep your mouth shut about this," Alondra said, watching the floor numbers tick upward.

The elevator dinged at the top floor. Alondra stepped out first.

She walked down the long, carpeted hallway. Several secretaries looked up from their desks. Their eyes widened in shock, and they immediately started whispering to each other.

Alondra ignored them. She stopped in front of the massive, double mahogany doors of the CEO's office.

Leland rushed forward, trying to reach the intercom. "Let me announce you-"

Alondra shoved his hand away.

She grabbed the heavy brass handle. She took one deep breath, forcing down the phantom pain of crushed ribs from her past life.

She twisted the handle and shoved the doors open with all her body weight.

The doors banged against the walls.

Gerard was sitting behind his massive desk. His head snapped up. His sharp eyes locked onto her.

The initial shock on his face instantly morphed into dark, explosive anger.

Alondra stepped inside. She reached behind her back, pulled the doors shut, and twisted the deadbolt lock until it clicked.