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.

The lawyers were scrambling to pack up their briefcases, eager to escape the radioactive tension in the room. Augustus was slumped in his chair, staring at the polished wood grain, looking like a man who had just survived a plane crash only to realize he was stranded on a desert island.

Avery stopped at the door. She paused, her hand on the brass handle.

She turned back.

She walked slowly back toward Augustus. The clicking of her heels was the only sound in the room.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a small, black velvet box. The kind usually reserved for cufflinks or earrings.

She placed it gently on the table in front of him.

"A parting gift," she said softly.

Augustus looked up, suspicion clouding his eyes. He reached out and flipped the lid open.

Inside, resting on the plush velvet, was a single, silver sewing needle.

He frowned, confused. He looked up at her. "What is this? Some kind of voodoo threat?"

Avery leaned down. She brought her lips close to his ear, invading his space just as Brandon had done to her, but with cold, calculated precision.

"Check your nightstand drawer, Augustus," she whispered.

Augustus froze.

"The box of condoms," she continued, her voice a silken thread of malice. "I poked holes in every single one. With that needle."

Augustus's eyes widened. His pupils dilated in horror. The realization hit him like a physical blow.

"Gilda didn't trap you," Avery whispered. "I did."

She pulled back to look at his face. "I gave you exactly what you wanted. An heir. And in exchange, I got my freedom."

Augustus's face turned a violent shade of purple. The veins in his neck bulged. He let out a roar, a sound of pure, animalistic fury.

He lunged.

He grabbed Avery by the throat, his fingers digging into her windpipe.

"You bitch!" he screamed, shaking her. "You calculated bitch!"

The lawyers shouted, rushing forward to pull him off.

Avery didn't struggle. She didn't claw at his hands. She stared straight into his eyes, her expression calm, almost bored.

"Strike me," she choked out. "Do it. And I'll take the other fifty percent."

Augustus froze. His hand was shaking on her neck. He looked at the witnesses. He looked at her fearless eyes.

He realized, with a jolt of terror, that he was afraid of her.

He released her, shoving her backward. She stumbled but caught herself on the table.

Augustus backed away, breathing heavily. "Get out. Get out!"

Avery straightened her collar. She touched her neck, where red marks were already blooming. She didn't look in pain. She looked satisfied.

"Goodbye, Augustus."

She walked out of the room.

Behind her, she heard the sound of the velvet box being swept off the table, hitting the wall with a dull thud, followed by Augustus's scream of impotent rage.

Avery slid into the back of the limousine. The door clicked shut, sealing her in.

She exhaled. It was a long, shuddering breath that seemed to empty her lungs completely. Her shoulders dropped three inches.

Charles was watching her in the mirror. He handed her a bottle of water without a word.

"It's done?" he asked.

"It's done," she confirmed. She unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. The water was cool, soothing her throat.

She touched her neck. It throbbed.

Charles saw the red finger marks on her skin. His hands tightened on the steering wheel until the leather creaked.

"I should kill him," Charles muttered. It wasn't a figure of speech.

"No need," Avery said, her voice raspy. "He's already dead inside. He just doesn't know it yet."

She leaned her head back against the seat. "Take me to the estate one last time, Charles."

Charles hesitated. "Are you sure? After..."

"Get Onyx," she said. "Only Onyx. I want my cat. I'm not setting foot in that house ever again. You go in. Get the carrier. Bring him out."

"And then?"

"Then take my things to the 5th Avenue apartment."

"The penthouse?"

"No," Avery said. "The other one. The one I bought three years ago under the shell company. The one nobody knows about."

Charles nodded. He put the car in gear.

Two hours later, Avery walked into the apartment on 5th Avenue. It was modern, stark, and cold. The furniture was covered in white dust sheets.

She walked in alone. Charles had dropped off her bags but had to return the car to the company garage.

The silence was heavy. It pressed against her ears.

Avery kicked off her heels. She walked to the kitchen and found a bottle of whiskey she had stored in the cupboard years ago. She poured a glass, her hands steady now.

She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. New York City glittered below her, a sea of lights and indifference.

She took a sip. The burn was grounding.

Suddenly, a wave of loneliness crashed over her. It wasn't the longing for Augustus-God, no. It was the sheer, crushing weight of being alone in the universe. She had won. She was free. And she had absolutely no one to share it with.

She remembered her mother, dying in a hospital bed paid for by charity, while her stepfather, Jiles Thomas, bought a new yacht.

Avery touched her glass to the cold windowpane.

"Step one complete, Mom," she whispered.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out. It was a notification from her offshore bank.

First Tranche Received: $200,000,000.00. Subject: Asset Liquidation Protocol.

She stared at the numbers. It was enough money to buy countries. It was freedom. It was power.

She smiled, but her lips felt stiff. The smile didn't reach her eyes.

She finished the whiskey in one gulp. Exhaustion, heavy and narcotic, pulled at her eyelids.

She walked to the bedroom, pulled the dust sheet off the bed, and collapsed onto the mattress fully clothed.

She slept fitfully, dreaming of storms and silver needles.