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.

Ten yards away from Cassie's table, tucked into a dark, recessed booth in the corner of the restaurant, sat Arturo Harvey.

Arturo was Garrison's younger brother.

He was wearing a faded black hoodie pulled up over his head, hiding his face in the shadows. He had the same sharp jawline and dark hair as Garrison, but where Garrison was cold and controlled, Arturo radiated a volatile, aggressive energy.

Arturo was sitting with three of his old fraternity brothers, a pitcher of cheap beer sweating on the table between them.

From the moment the woman in the pink fur coat had started yelling, Arturo's eyes had been locked onto Cassie's table.

His jaw was clenched tight.

Because of the loud K-pop music and the sizzling grills, Arturo couldn't hear the actual words being spoken.

He could only see the body language.

From Arturo's perspective, he saw the obnoxious woman leaning over the table, pointing her finger aggressively in Cassie's face, screaming at her.

And what did Cassie do?

He watched her sit there, completely unfazed, like a porcelain doll that couldn't feel the insults. It disgusted him. To him, it wasn't strength; it was the empty, soulless composure of someone who had traded all their dignity for a price tag.

A wave of absolute disgust rolled through Arturo's stomach.

"Hey, Artie," one of his frat brothers said, nudging Arturo's shoulder and pointing a beer bottle toward Cassie's table. "Isn't that your sister-in-law? Looks like she's getting chewed out by some crazy chick."

Arturo grabbed his glass of beer and took a massive, angry swallow.

He slammed the glass back down on the table.

"Yeah," Arturo sneered, his lip curling in contempt. "That's her. The gold-digging parasite."

His friend raised an eyebrow. "You gonna go help her out?"

"Help her?" Arturo let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Why? She's just a pathetic gold-digger who will swallow any amount of disrespect as long as she gets to keep the Harvey name on her credit cards."

In Arturo's mind, Cassie was the villain. He believed she had manipulated her way into the marriage.

Seeing her sit quietly while someone screamed at her only confirmed his harsh judgment.

Arturo watched Brenda suddenly storm off.

Arturo had already turned his head away in absolute disgust to down the rest of his beer. Because he looked away at that exact second, Arturo missed Brenda slipping on the grease and the restaurant's wave of laughter. He just saw the woman march away, assuming she was victorious in her anger.

Arturo grips the edge of the table. His knuckles turned white.

She's a disgrace to the family name, Arturo thought, his blood boiling. Garrison is a machine, and she's a coward. They deserve each other.

His friend noticed Arturo's dark mood and quickly changed the subject.

"So, man, you going to that massive Harvey Family Gala next week?" the friend asked, trying to lighten the mood.

At the mention of the Gala, Arturo's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

He looked back at Cassie. She was calmly paying her bill at the table, completely unaware of his presence.

Arturo knew Cassie would be at the Gala. She would be forced to play the role of the perfect, elegant society wife in front of hundreds of cameras and billionaires.

An idea sparked in Arturo's mind. A cruel, vindictive idea.

If she was so willing to swallow her pride for money, he was going to test her limits. He was going to expose her fake, cowardly nature in front of the entire family.

"Yeah," Arturo said to his friend, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. "I'll be there. It's going to be very entertaining."

Across the room, Cassie stood up. She grabbed her Birkin bag and put on her blazer.

She turned and started walking toward the exit.

Her path to the door took her directly past Arturo's dark booth.

As Cassie approached, Arturo instinctively slouched lower in his seat, pulling the hood further down over his eyes. He stared at her from the shadows like a predator tracking prey.

Cassie walked past the booth.

She was looking down at her bag, her fingers digging around inside to find her MetroCard. She was completely focused on her own world.

She walked right past Arturo, less than two feet away.

A breeze followed her, carrying the scent of roasted meat mixed with the faint, clean smell of her expensive shampoo.

Arturo watched her push open the glass door and step out into the neon-lit Manhattan night.

A dark, mocking smile spread across Arturo's face.

He pulled out his phone and opened his calendar app. He stared at the date circled in red for next Friday: Harvey Family Charity Gala.

He tapped his thumb hard against the screen.

He was going to rip her mask off. He was going to make her break.

Out on the street, Cassie swiped her MetroCard and walked down the stairs to the subway platform.

She stood under the flickering fluorescent lights, feeling proud of how she had handled the day. She had secured her job, she had managed Garrison, and she had crushed her enemies.