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.

Sunlight sliced through the gaps in the blinds, hitting Avery squarely in the face. She groaned, rolling over, burying her face in the pillow. For a moment, she felt a profound sense of peace. She was safe. No one knew where she was.

Then, she smelled it.

Bacon.

Crispy, salty, hickory-smoked bacon.

Confusion fogged her brain. She lived alone. She hadn't hired staff yet.

She sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

In the corner of the bedroom, sitting in a velvet armchair he must have uncovered, was Brandon Garrison.

He was wearing a black t-shirt that stretched tight across his chest and grey sweatpants. He looked infuriatingly casual. He was holding a plate of eggs and bacon, watching her sleep with the intensity of a scientist observing a specimen.

Avery's breath caught in her throat, a sharp, silent gasp. She didn't scream. She scrambled back against the headboard, her hand closing around the heavy base of the bedside lamp, gripping it like a weapon.

"How did you get in?!" she demanded, her voice a low, dangerous hiss.

Brandon didn't flinch. He held up a white plastic card. "Cloned key card. Security here is a joke. You really need to upgrade."

"Get out!" Avery said, her knuckles white on the lamp. "I'm divorced! I'm not your aunt anymore!"

Brandon smiled. "Exactly. Which means you're free game now."

He stood up and walked toward the bed.

Avery pressed herself against the wall, her breath coming in short, controlled pants. "I'm calling the police."

"Go ahead," Brandon said, stopping at the edge of the mattress. "Tell them your nephew broke in to make you breakfast."

He tossed her phone onto the duvet. It bounced near her knee.

"Eat," he commanded. The tone was domestic, but the look in his eyes was predatory.

"I'm not hungry," Avery spat.

"You need protein," he said. He leaned over, placing his hands on the mattress on either side of her legs. The mattress dipped under his weight. "I heard what you did to Augustus."

Avery froze.

"The needle," Brandon whispered, his eyes gleaming with admiration. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "The pen my lawyer left on the table? It was a microphone. I heard every word. Poking holes in the condoms? That was… brilliant. Twisted. Evil. Brilliant."

Avery's grip on the lamp loosened slightly. Of course. He had bugged the room. "How did you know where to find me?"

Brandon tapped his temple. "I see everything, Avery. The tracker I put in your coat is military-grade."

He leaned closer. "I'm the only one who knows what you really are. You're a monster, Avery. Just like me."

"I am nothing like you," she hissed.

"We belong together," he said, his voice dropping to a rough growl. "You know it."

Avery lashed out. She kicked him squarely in the chest.

Brandon stumbled back, laughing. He looked delighted by the violence.

"Eat the eggs," he said, turning toward the door. "They'll get cold."

He walked out, leaving the bedroom door wide open.