At 2:00 PM, a sleek black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb outside the Harvey Group headquarters on Wall Street.

Adelaide Collier stepped out of the back seat.

She was wearing a skin-tight, burgundy dress with a neckline that plunged dangerously low. Before stepping out of the car, she had sprayed herself three times with Tom Ford's Black Orchid-a heavy, suffocatingly sweet perfume.

Adelaide adjusted her designer sunglasses and marched toward the towering glass doors of the building.

She ignored the security desk in the main lobby. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she walked directly to the VIP elevator bank reserved for C-suite executives.

She pulled a temporary access card from her purse-a favor she had extracted from a mid-level VP she had briefly dated.

She swiped the card. The light turned green.

Adelaide stepped into the empty elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.

She looked at her reflection in the mirrored walls. She ran a hand down her waist, checking her curves. She smiled. A predatory, confident smile.

She was convinced that no man, not even the robotic Garrison Harvey, could resist a woman who threw herself at him. Especially when his own wife was a boring, complaining mess.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open on the executive floor.

The air up here was usually crisp, cold, and completely sterile.

The moment Adelaide stepped out, her heavy perfume rolled out into the hallway like a toxic cloud.

Morgan Shaw, Garrison's Chief Executive Assistant, was sitting at his desk outside the CEO's office. Morgan was a former military intelligence officer who treated his administrative job like a combat mission.

Morgan's nose twitched. He smelled the overwhelming scent of vanilla and dark spice.

He immediately stood up, his eyes locking onto Adelaide. His expression hardened into a wall of stone.

Adelaide ignored him. She strutted down the hallway, heading straight for the heavy double doors of Garrison's private office.

Inside the office, Garrison was staring at a glowing computer monitor.

He was deep in the flow state, analyzing a complex algorithm for a tech acquisition. He needed absolute silence and a completely controlled environment to function at this level.

Suddenly, a thick, sweet scent crept under the crack of his office door.

Garrison's nostrils flared.

The smell hit his brain like a physical blow. It was cloying. It was invasive.

Instantly, his body reacted. His chest seized up. The muscles in his neck pulled tight, triggering a sharp, blinding spike of pain behind his left eye.

It was a sensory overload. His trauma response flared, demanding immediate removal of the threat.

Garrison squeezed his eyes shut. He pressed the heels of his hands hard against his temples, trying to crush the pain. His breathing grew shallow and rapid.

He reached out blindly and slammed his fist down on the intercom button on his desk.

He didn't speak. He couldn't. But the intercom transmitted the harsh, ragged sound of his panicked breathing directly to Morgan's desk.

Outside the door, Morgan heard the breathing.

Morgan moved with terrifying speed. He stepped directly into Adelaide's path, blocking her just two feet away from Garrison's door.

Morgan raised his arm, creating a solid physical barrier.

"Halt," Morgan said. His voice was flat, cold, and completely devoid of emotion.

Adelaide stopped, glaring at the assistant.

"Excuse me," Adelaide said, putting a hand on her hip and pushing her chest forward. "I am Cassie Harvey's best friend. I have urgent personal business with Garrison. Move."

Morgan didn't even blink at her cleavage.

"Mr. Harvey is in a secure environment. He is not accepting visitors. You need to leave the floor immediately," Morgan stated, his tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.

Adelaide scoffed. She tried to step around him, deliberately brushing her shoulder against his arm, trying to use physical contact to intimidate him into moving.

Morgan stepped back, looking at his sleeve as if she had just wiped garbage on it.

He reached up and pressed the earpiece in his right ear.

"Security. Code Red on the executive floor. Immediate extraction required," Morgan said calmly into his lapel mic.

Adelaide's face dropped. The fake, seductive smile vanished, replaced by genuine shock and rising panic.

"Are you crazy?" Adelaide hissed, her voice shrill. "Do you know who I am? I will have Garrison fire you!"

The elevator doors pinged open.

Two massive security guards in dark suits stepped out. They moved silently and quickly down the hall. They flanked Adelaide, one on each side.

"Ma'am, please step toward the elevator," the guard on her left said, gesturing with a thick hand.

Morgan looked Adelaide dead in the eye.

"If you attempt to breach this floor again, the Harvey Group legal department will file a restraining order against you before you reach the lobby," Morgan warned, his voice like ice. "Escort her out."

Adelaide's face turned a violent shade of red. Humiliation burned in her chest.

She looked at the closed doors of Garrison's office, then at the two giant men ready to physically drag her away.

She spun around, her heels stomping furiously against the marble as she marched back to the elevator.

The doors closed behind her.

Morgan immediately turned to a passing janitorial staff member. "Bring the HEPA air purifiers to the hallway. Now. Scrub the air."

Inside the descending elevator, Adelaide was shaking with rage.

She pulled her phone out of her purse. She gripped it so tightly her knuckles cracked.

She had been humiliated. Thrown out like trash. And she blamed one person for this.

Cassie.

Cassie must have warned Garrison. Cassie must have poisoned him against her.

Adelaide's eyes narrowed with pure malice. She opened her messaging app and typed out a new text to Cassie.

Cassie, I'm so worried about you. I just saw Garrison at the office, and he wasn't alone. There was a blonde woman with him. They looked very close. You need to come down here and check on your husband before you lose everything.

Adelaide hit send. A vicious smile twisted her lips.

Let Cassie run down here and make a hysterical scene. Let Garrison see how unhinged his wife really was.

Cassie was sitting at her desk at the Broadcasting Network, packing her laptop into her Birkin bag. It was 5:30 PM.

Her phone screen lit up on the desk.

She glanced down and saw Adelaide's name flash across the screen.

Cassie unlocked the phone and read the long text message.

She stared at the words: ...he wasn't alone. There was a blonde woman with him... you need to come down here...

Cassie let out a loud, genuine snort of laughter.

The manipulation was so incredibly lazy. It was insulting to her intelligence.

She remembered this exact plot point from the novel. The original Cassie had received this text, panicked, and taken a cab straight to Wall Street. She had screamed at Morgan, tried to kick down Garrison's door, and ended up being dragged out by security in front of the entire board of directors. It was the incident that sealed her fate as a hysterical liability.

Cassie didn't feel a single ounce of jealousy or panic.

She tapped the screen. She opened Adelaide's contact profile.

She scrolled down to the bottom of the screen. Her thumb hovered over the red text that read: Block this Caller.

Cassie pressed it hard.

A confirmation box popped up. She hit Block again.

Just like that, Adelaide Collier was erased from her digital existence.

Cassie dropped the phone into her bag. A wave of immense satisfaction washed over her. It felt like she had just scraped a piece of dog crap off the bottom of her expensive shoe.

Her stomach let out a loud rumble.

Cassie smiled. She was starving, and she knew exactly what she wanted.

She walked out of the office building and stepped onto the crowded Manhattan sidewalk. The evening air was cool.

She pulled her phone back out. She opened her text thread with Garrison.

She didn't overthink it. She didn't craft a careful, strategic message. She just typed:

I'm heading to 32nd Street for K-BBQ. It's loud and messy and smells like garlic. Do you want to come?

She hit send.

She didn't stare at the screen waiting for the typing bubbles to appear. She shoved the phone in her pocket and walked down the stairs into the subway station.

Meanwhile, back at the Harvey Group headquarters.

Garrison was sitting in a claustrophobic, glass-walled conference room.

He was surrounded by four aggressive corporate lawyers who were arguing loudly over the liability clauses of the merger. The noise was giving him a headache.

Inside his suit jacket, his personal cell phone vibrated against his ribs.

Garrison's posture stiffened.

He kept his face completely blank. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled the phone out, keeping it hidden under the edge of the conference table.

He tapped the screen.

Cassie's message popped up.loud and messy and smells like garlic...

Garrison stared at the words.

His brain immediately rejected the idea. A crowded, noisy restaurant filled with smoke and unpredictable strangers was his literal definition of hell. It was a sensory nightmare.

But as he read the words again, a strange, tight feeling gripped his chest.

He pictured Cassie sitting in a loud restaurant, laughing, eating, completely unbothered by the chaos. He felt a sudden, irrational urge to be sitting across from her.

Garrison stared at the screen for a full thirty seconds.

The lead lawyer noticed Garrison's distraction and slowly stopped talking, looking nervous.

Garrison closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. Logic won. He couldn't do it. He couldn't handle the environment.

He lifted the phone and handed it backward over his shoulder to Morgan, who was standing at attention behind his chair.

Garrison tapped the screen twice with his index finger.

Morgan took the phone. He read the text. He understood the silent command perfectly.

Morgan pulled out his own encrypted work phone and typed a reply to Cassie.

Mr. Harvey is in emergency negotiations regarding the Wall Street merger and will be unavailable for the remainder of the evening.

Garrison watched Morgan send the text.

As soon as the message went through, a dark, heavy wave of irritation crashed over Garrison.

He felt angry. He wasn't angry at Cassie for asking. He was angry at himself for saying no. He hated the invisible cage his trauma kept him locked inside.

Garrison turned his freezing glare back to the lawyers. He rapped his knuckles sharply against the glass table.

The sharp sound made the lawyers jump.

Garrison pointed a long finger at the contract, his eyes demanding they finish this immediately.

Down in Koreatown, Cassie walked out of the 34th Street Herald Square subway station.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out and read Morgan's sterile, corporate reply.

Cassie shrugged. She didn't feel a sting of rejection.

Classic CEO behavior, she thought. More meat for me.

She walked down 32nd Street, letting the neon lights and the incredible smell of roasting meat wash over her.

She pushed open the door to a packed, incredibly loud Korean BBQ restaurant. K-pop music was blasting from the speakers. The air was thick with smoke and the sound of sizzling fat.

It was the exact opposite of the penthouse.

Cassie got a small table by the window. She took off her blazer, rolled up the sleeves of her silk blouse, and ordered the premium Wagyu beef set and a bottle of ice-cold Jinro Soju.

When the waiter brought the meat and started grilling it on the table, the sizzling sound filled Cassie's ears.

She poured herself a shot of Soju.

She raised the small glass toward the window, looking out at the busy New York street.

"To survival," Cassie whispered to herself.

She tossed the shot back. The alcohol burned a hot, clean path down her throat. She picked up her chopsticks, feeling more alive than she had in days.

Cassie grabbed a crisp leaf of lettuce. She smeared a thick dollop of spicy gochujang paste on it, dropped a piece of perfectly charred Wagyu beef in the center, and added a slice of raw garlic.

She folded it up and shoved the entire thing into her mouth.

She closed her eyes and chewed. The explosion of fat, spice, and salt was euphoric.

As she reached for her chopsticks to grab another piece of meat, the heavy glass door of the restaurant was shoved open.

A loud, grating voice pierced through the K-pop music.

"Ugh, it smells like cheap grease in here! My hair is going to be ruined."

Cassie opened her eyes.

Standing in the doorway was a woman wearing a massive, obnoxious pink fur coat. She was clutching a brand-new, bright yellow Chanel flap bag like it was a shield.

It was Brenda Sutkowski. Cassie's distant cousin.

Brenda was a desperate social climber who spent her life trying to pretend she belonged to the old-money elite.

Brenda had been scrolling through Instagram in her Uber when she saw it: a story from one of Cassie's few work friends, tagging the K-BBQ restaurant just ten minutes ago. A vicious smile had spread across Brenda's face.

Now, Brenda's sharp, heavily lined eyes scanned the crowded room, looking for her target. Her gaze immediately locked onto Cassie sitting alone by the window.

Brenda's eyes lit up with malicious excitement.

She stomped across the restaurant in her six-inch Louboutins, ignoring the annoyed looks from the diners she bumped into.

Cassie saw the pink fur approaching out of the corner of her eye. She let out a quiet sigh. Great. The trash is delivering itself today.

Brenda didn't wait for an invitation. She grabbed the chair opposite Cassie, pulled it out with a loud screech against the floor, and dropped into it.

She slammed her yellow Chanel bag onto the table, making sure the interlocking C logo was facing Cassie.

"Oh my god, Cassie!" Brenda practically yelled, making sure the tables next to them could hear. "Is that really you? What is the esteemed Mrs. Harvey doing eating alone in a place like this? Did Garrison cut off your allowance?"

Several people at the neighboring tables turned their heads, their eyes wide with sudden gossip.

Cassie didn't stop chewing.

She swallowed the meat, picked up a paper napkin, and dabbed the corners of her mouth. Her movements were slow, elegant, and completely unbothered.

She looked at Brenda's flushed, eager face.

"Hello, Brenda," Cassie said, her voice flat and bored. "It's been a while."

Cassie picked up her metal tongs and calmly flipped a piece of pork belly on the grill.

Brenda frowned. She expected Cassie to look embarrassed or defensive. Cassie's total lack of reaction felt like an insult.

Brenda leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. She deliberately pushed her sleeve up to reveal a thick Van Cleef & Arpels diamond bracelet.

"I just got back from the Hamptons," Brenda bragged loudly. "We rented a massive oceanfront estate. It was exhausting, honestly. The staff was so slow. But you know how hard it is to find good help these days."

Cassie kept her eyes on the grilling meat.

In her mind, she recalled the novel's plot. Brenda's trust fund was tied up in a massive Ponzi scheme that was going to collapse in exactly three weeks. Brenda was currently broke and living on credit cards.

"That sounds nice," Cassie said dismissively. She raised her hand and caught the waiter's eye. "Excuse me, can I get another side of kimchi?"

Brenda's face tightened. Her bragging had bounced right off Cassie.

Brenda decided to go for the throat. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice into a fake, pitying whisper.

"Seriously, Cassie, everyone in our circle is talking," Brenda hissed. "They say Garrison is a total freak. A mute robot. You're sitting here eating cheap meat all by yourself. Has he frozen you out completely?"

Cassie's hand stopped moving.

She slowly lowered the metal tongs to the table.

She lifted her eyes and locked her gaze onto Brenda's face.

Cassie didn't cry. She didn't scream. She looked at Brenda with the cold, dead-eyed stare of someone examining a squashed bug on the sidewalk.

Cassie leaned slightly forward.

"Garrison doesn't speak because he doesn't like wasting his breath on useless garbage," Cassie said. Her voice was quiet, but every syllable was sharp as a razor blade. "Unlike some people, who never know when to shut their mouths."

Brenda recoiled as if Cassie had just slapped her across the face.

Her mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. Her face turned a blotchy, furious red.

"You... you stuck-up bitch!" Brenda shrieked, losing all pretense of high society. She pointed a shaking finger at Cassie. "You think you're so untouchable! You're nothing! The Harveys are going to throw you out on the street, and I'm going to laugh!"

Cassie didn't even blink.

She picked up her glass of ice water, took a slow sip, and set it down.

"Are you done?" Cassie asked coldly. "Because you're ruining my appetite. Leave."

Brenda let out a sound of pure, frustrated rage.

She snatched her Chanel bag off the table so hard she almost knocked over a plate of garlic. She spun around to storm away.

But in her blind anger, Brenda forgot about the grease on the floor.

Her six-inch stiletto hit a slick patch of oil near the table leg.

Brenda's foot shot out from under her. She let out a sharp yelp, her arms flailing wildly. She barely managed to catch herself on a nearby chair, avoiding a full face-plant into the floor.

A wave of muffled laughter rippled through the restaurant.

Brenda's face burned purple with humiliation. She didn't look back. She practically ran toward the exit, her pink fur coat bouncing ridiculously as she fled.

Cassie watched her go. She slowly shook her head.

Amateur, Cassie thought.

The waiter arrived and nervously placed the fresh bowl of kimchi on the table.

"Thank you," Cassie smiled warmly at the waiter.

She picked up her chopsticks and went right back to eating. She felt fantastic. The trash had taken itself out.

But Cassie didn't know that she wasn't the only one watching Brenda's humiliating exit.