The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the foyer of the penthouse. Avery stepped out, her heels sinking into the plush carpet. The lights in the apartment were dimmed to a romantic low, and the soft, mournful notes of a jazz saxophone drifted from the integrated sound system.

She stopped.

Right in the center of the entryway rug, a pair of red stilettos had been kicked off haphazardly. One lay on its side, the red sole gleaming under the recessed lighting. Avery recognized them immediately. They were the limited edition Louboutins she had mentioned wanting three months ago. Augustus had said they were "too flashy" for a Preston.

Apparently, they weren't too flashy for someone else.

Avery walked into the living room, her footsteps silent.

Gilda Nichols was lounging on the Italian leather sofa, a glass of red wine in her hand. She was a beautiful woman, in a sharp, predatory way, with dark hair and eyes that always seemed to be calculating the cost of everything in the room.

She was wearing a white dress shirt. Nothing else.

The shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the curve of her chest. It was Augustus's shirt. Avery had bought it for him in Milan.

Gilda looked up, feigning surprise. She took a slow sip of wine, her gaze raking over Avery's damp coat and tired face. She didn't make a move to cover her bare legs.

"Mrs. Garrison," Gilda purred, the title dripping with syrup. "We didn't expect you back so soon."

A flash of anger sparked in Avery's chest-a primal, territorial instinct-but she suffocated it instantly. She remembered her wedding night, sitting alone in this very room while Augustus went out to "celebrate with the boys." She remembered the coldness.

"Where is my husband?" Avery asked, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

The glass doors to the balcony slid open. Augustus walked in, a trail of cigar smoke following him. He was wearing suit trousers but no shirt. He stopped when he saw Avery, a frown creasing his forehead. He looked annoyed, like a man whose favorite show had been interrupted by a commercial.

"You're back," he said, sounding bored. "I thought you'd be babysitting Brandon all night. Did you get the drunk under control?"

"He's at the estate," Avery said quietly.

Augustus walked past her, not even glancing at her face. He went straight to the wine bottle on the sideboard and poured a refill for Gilda. The disrespect was palpable. He treated Avery like a piece of furniture that had been placed in an inconvenient spot.

Gilda giggled as Augustus handed her the glass, her hand lingering on his bare arm. She looked at Avery with triumph in her eyes.

Avery clutched her chest. She forced her diaphragm to spasm, initiating a dry, hacking cough. She bent over, her body shaking with the effort.

"For God's sake," Augustus snapped, rolling his eyes. "Are you sick again?"

"I... I think I caught a chill in the rain," Avery wheezed, looking up at him with watery eyes.

"Well, don't stand there infecting us," Augustus said, waving his hand dismissively toward the hallway. "Go to your room. And close the door. I don't want to hear that hacking all night."

"I'm sorry, Augustus," Avery whispered. She looked at Gilda, offering a weak, apologetic nod. Gilda smirked, nestling deeper into the sofa.

Avery turned and retreated. She walked down the long hallway to the guest bedroom-the room she had slept in for the last two years.

She entered the room and closed the door softly. Then, she locked it.

The coughing stopped instantly.

Avery stood in the center of the dark room, her breathing perfectly even. She walked to the closet and reached into the lining of her winter coat, pulling out a small, cheap burner phone.

She powered it on. The screen glowed in the darkness.

She typed a message, her thumbs moving with lightning speed.

The incubator is secure. Proceed.

She hit send.

She walked to the wall calendar hanging by the desk. A date, two weeks from now, was circled in red ink. She touched the circle with her fingertip.

"Enjoy the wine, Gilda," she whispered to the empty room. "You're going to need it."

Sunday brunch at the Garrison Estate was a theatrical performance of wealth and hypocrisy. The sunroom was flooded with light, reflecting off the crystal flutes of mimosas held by people who despised each other.

Avery sat at the far end of the long table, her hands folded in her lap. She wore a pale yellow dress that washed her out, making her look even more ghost-like than usual.

Augustus sat at the center, radiating arrogance. To his right sat his mother, Eleanor, a woman whose face was pulled so tight by surgery she looked permanently surprised.

And to Augustus's left sat Gilda.

She wasn't invited, technically. But the Garrisons tolerated power, and Gilda was currently projecting it.

A servant approached with a pitcher of mimosas. Gilda held up a hand, a dramatic, sweeping gesture that silenced the table.

"No alcohol for me," she said, her voice carrying clearly to the ends of the room.

Eleanor paused, her fork hovering halfway to her mouth. "On a diet, dear?"

Gilda smiled, turning to look at Augustus. He looked smug, patting her hand on the tablecloth.

"Not exactly," Gilda said. She placed a hand on her stomach. "We're expecting."

The sound of silverware clattering against fine china echoed in the room. Eleanor dropped her fork. Franklin Garrison, Augustus's father, lowered his newspaper.

"An heir?" Franklin boomed, a smile breaking across his stern face. "A Garrison heir?"

"Yes," Augustus said, puffing out his chest. "A boy, we think. It's early, but the doctors are optimistic."

The table erupted. Eleanor was out of her chair, rushing to hug Gilda. Franklin called for a toast to the future of the lineage. They cooed and fawned, their excitement palpable.

Avery sat in silence. She was completely erased. It was as if she didn't exist. She was the wife, sitting ten feet away, while her husband celebrated his mistress's pregnancy with his parents.

Augustus cleared his throat. The room quieted down. He looked at Avery, his expression hardening. He reached under his chair and pulled out a thick manila envelope. He slid it down the table. It stopped just in front of Avery's untouched plate.

"It's time to formalize the transition, Avery," he said. "We need to make room for the family."

Avery picked up the envelope. Her hands trembled-just enough for them to see. She opened it.

It was a divorce settlement.

She scanned the terms. They were offering her the villa in the Hamptons-a money pit that needed a new roof-and fifty million dollars.

Fifty million. Augustus was worth four billion.

"It's a generous offer," Eleanor said, her voice sharp. "Considering you're... well, barren. You provided no value to this family, Avery. This is a kindness."

Gilda smirked, stroking her flat stomach. "We just want what's best for everyone."

Avery lowered her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the moisture to gather in her lashes. When she looked up, a single, perfect tear tracked down her cheek.

"Is there no other way?" she whispered, her voice breaking.

"We need an heir, Avery," Augustus said coldly. "You couldn't give me one. Gilda did. It's simple biology."

Avery nodded slowly, looking defeated. She pushed the paper back toward him, but stopped.

"I will sign," she said.

Augustus let out a breath he had been holding. "Good."

"But," Avery added, sniffing. "I need my lawyer to review it first. Just... just to make sure I understand the tax implications. I'm not very good with numbers."

Augustus laughed. It was a cruel, barking sound. "Of course you aren't. Fine. Have your little lawyer look at it. But make it quick. I want this done by Tuesday."

Avery stood up. "Excuse me. I... I need a moment."

She turned and walked out of the sunroom. Behind her, she heard the pop of a champagne cork. She heard Eleanor laughing, saying, "Thank God she's finally gone. Such a depressing little thing."

Avery walked into the hallway. The moment she was out of sight, she stopped.

She reached up and wiped the tear from her cheek with a single, brutal swipe of her thumb. Her posture shifted. Her shoulders rolled back. She didn't look back at the sunroom.

She walked toward the exit with the stride of a predator who had just set a trap and was now waiting for the snap.

The conference room at the law firm of Sterling & Cooper was located on the 40th floor, overlooking the grey expanse of Wall Street. The air conditioning was set to a chilling temperature.

Augustus sat on one side of the mahogany table, flanked by three lawyers. He checked his watch impatiently.

The door opened.

Avery walked in.

Augustus blinked. He almost didn't recognize her.

Gone was the pastel cardigan. Gone was the soft, wavy hair. Avery was wearing a black suit, tailored so sharply it looked like armor. Her hair was slicked back into a severe, tight bun. Her makeup was minimal, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones.

She didn't look down. She looked him straight in the eye.

She walked to the table. Augustus's lead attorney pushed the original contract forward. "Mrs. Garrison, if you'll just sign here..."

Avery didn't sit down. She picked up the contract. She walked over to the shredder in the corner of the room. She fed the document into the machine.

The mechanical whirring was deafening in the silence.

Augustus stood up, his face reddening. "What the hell are you doing?"

Avery turned. She signaled to a man sitting quietly in the corner-a lawyer Augustus didn't recognize. The man stood and distributed a set of thick, black binders to everyone at the table. As he set them down, he also placed a sleek, modern fountain pen in the center of the table, positioning it with deliberate care.

The binders slid across the polished mahogany with a heavy thud.

"Open it," Avery commanded. Her voice was steady, resonant. It wasn't a request.

Augustus opened the file.

His face drained of color.

The first page was a photograph of a bank statement from the Cayman Islands. An account he had sworn to the IRS didn't exist.

The second page was a log of insider trading transactions involving Garrison Biotech stock, dated three days before FDA announcements.

The third section was a detailed timeline. Gilda Nichols. The St. Regis. The Cartier receipts paid for with company funds.

"You've been busy," Avery said, leaning her hands on the table. She loomed over him.

"Where did you get this?" Augustus whispered, looking at his lawyer in panic. His lawyer was reading the file, looking pale.

"I want fifty percent of the marital assets," Avery said. "Liquidated. Cash."

"You're insane!" Augustus shouted. "That's two billion dollars!"

"And," Avery continued, ignoring his outburst, "I want five percent of the Garrison Biotech voting shares. They will be transferred to a holding company of my choosing, Citrus Ventures, for tax and privacy reasons."

"Never," Augustus spat. "My father will kill me."

Avery leaned closer. "Or I send this to the SEC. Today. Right now."

She pointed to the phone on the table. "And the photos go to TMZ. And the receipts go to the board of directors."

"Your stock will tank before the market opens tomorrow," she said softly. "You'll go to federal prison for insider trading. And your precious heir? He'll be born while his father is wearing an orange jumpsuit and his mother is selling her jewelry to pay legal fees."

Augustus looked at her. Really looked at her. He saw the cold intelligence in her eyes, the steel in her spine.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

Avery smiled. It was a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm the woman you underestimated, Augustus."

Augustus's lawyer leaned in, whispering urgently into his ear. "She has you, Mr. Garrison. This is checkmate. If this gets out, you're finished."

Augustus slammed his fist onto the table. The binders jumped. He was shaking with rage, but he grabbed the pen. He signed the new agreement, the tip of the pen tearing through the paper.

Avery picked up the document. She checked the signature.

"Pleasure doing business," she said.

She turned on her heel and walked toward the door. The victory was absolute.