The Uber ride to Queens felt like it took a lifetime.

Arianna sat in the back seat, staring blankly out the window as the car sped over the bridge. The sky was just beginning to turn a sickly shade of gray, the first hint of dawn bleeding into the night. She forced herself to keep her eyes open, refusing to look at her phone. The driver didn't speak, and she was grateful for the silence.

The car pulled up to a quiet row of townhouses in a neighborhood where the trees still had leaves clinging to their branches, brown and brittle.

Arianna grabbed her suitcase from the trunk and walked up the steps to Clara's porch. The paint on the railing was peeling slightly. She pressed the doorbell and waited. Every second felt like a physical weight pressing down on her chest.

The door swung open. Clara stood there in a flannel robe, her dark curls piled into a messy bun, bouncing her three-month-old baby against her shoulder. The baby was wrapped in a soft yellow blanket, tiny fists waving.

Clara's brown eyes widened at the sight of Arianna's pale, exhausted face. Without her usual makeup and pressed suits, Arianna looked like a ghost of herself.

Arianna tried to smile. Her lips just trembled. "Can I crash on your couch for a few days?" Her voice cracked on the last word.

Clara grabbed her arm and pulled her into the warm hallway. The house smelled like baby powder and fresh coffee. "Oh my god, Ari. What happened? Is it the company?"

Arianna let go of her suitcase. It tipped over onto the hardwood floor with a thud. She sank onto the living room sofa, a worn leather thing draped with crocheted blankets. Watching Clara gently rock the baby, the last thread of her tension finally snapped.

She told Clara everything. She repeated the words she heard on the terrace. Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, like she was reading a quarterly earnings report.

Clara's face turned red, her jaw clenched so tight the muscles bulged. "That selfish, manipulative bastard," she hissed, careful not to wake the baby.

Meryl, Clara's mother-in-law, came down the stairs. She was a small woman with silver hair and sharp eyes that missed nothing. She took one look at the two women, gently took the sleeping baby from Clara's arms, and nodded toward the door. "Go. Take her out. Get some air."

Two hours later, they were walking through a high-end shopping mall in Manhattan. The atrium soared above them, all glass and steel, filled with the murmur of shoppers and the faint scent of perfume.

Arianna pushed the empty stroller they had brought along, letting the mindless hum of the mall wash over her. They walked into a luxury maternity boutique, past displays of impossibly soft onesies and designer diaper bags.

While Clara inspected a rack of onesies, Arianna pulled her phone from her pocket, mindlessly opening Instagram to distract herself. The first post on her feed was a new story from Cristy Kelly, the intern. It was a close-up video of her wrist, adorned with a sparkling, intricate diamond bracelet, captioned: Spoiled by the absolute best. Arianna frowned, feeling a strange, icy prickle at the back of her neck. She locked her phone and looked up.

She stared aimlessly at the people walking by.

Then, her eyes locked onto a figure inside the Cartier boutique directly across the walkway.

Her blood turned to ice.

Gregory was standing at the glass counter. He was supposed to be running the morning executive meeting. He was wearing the navy suit she had picked out for him last month, his posture relaxed, one hand in his pocket.

Standing right next to him, leaning her body against his arm, was Cristy Kelly. The new twenty-two-year-old intern from the art department. She was petite, with long auburn hair and wide green eyes that she batted constantly. She wore a tight white dress that was entirely inappropriate for office hours.

Cristy was holding a diamond necklace up to her collarbone, looking at herself in the mirror with a delighted smile.

Gregory smiled. He reached out and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind Cristy's ear. The gesture was so natural, so intimately practiced, it made Arianna's stomach turn.

The air in Arianna's lungs vanished. An invisible hand squeezed her heart until it physically ached.

Clara walked up beside her. She followed Arianna's frozen stare. Her face went white, then flushed deep red with fury. She dropped the onesie she'd been holding onto the floor.

"Is that...?" Clara gasped. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to walk right over there and rip his face off."

Clara started toward the door, her hands balled into fists.

Arianna's hand shot out. Her fingers clamped down on Clara's wrist like a steel vice. Her skin was freezing cold, her grip bruising.

"No," Arianna said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm.

She didn't look away from the window. She watched Gregory pull out his black Amex card to pay for the necklace. He wasn't just emotionally cheating with his stepsister. He was physically screwing the intern. He was buying her diamonds while Arianna handled his company's backend architecture.

Arianna reached into her coat pocket. She pulled out her phone and opened the camera app.

She zoomed in as far as the lens would go.

Her hands were shaking, but she forced them still. She pressed the shutter button. Click. Click. Click.

She captured his hand on Cristy's waist, the intimate way his fingers splayed against the white fabric. She captured the kiss he pressed to her cheek, his lips lingering too long.

She lowered the phone and slipped it back into her pocket. She turned around and grabbed the handle of the stroller.

"Let's go, Clara," she said, her tone completely flat.

Clara stared at her, her brow furrowed with concern. "Ari... are you okay? You're scaring me."

A cold, mocking smile touched the corner of Arianna's mouth.

"I'm fine," Arianna said. "In fact, I've never been more awake in my entire life."

They walked out the glass doors of the mall into the bright afternoon sun. The cold air hit Arianna's face, but she barely felt it.

The nine-year relationship was dead. Now, it was time to figure out how to extract her company shares and her patents before she burned his life to the ground.

Arianna stayed in Clara's guest room for three days.

She locked the door, logged into the company's VPN, and buried herself in writing core engine code. It was the only way to numb the constant ache in her chest. The room was small and cozy, with floral wallpaper and a quilt that smelled like lavender, but she barely noticed her surroundings. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, lines of code stacking up on the screen like armor.

On the evening of the third day, she slammed her MacBook shut. Hiding was over.

She thanked Clara, packed her suitcase, and took a car back to the Tribeca penthouse.

She pushed open the heavy front door. The familiar, expensive scent of Jo Malone filled her lungs. It made her want to gag.

Gregory was sitting on the leather sofa, wearing cashmere sweatpants and a fitted crewneck, reviewing a financial report on his iPad. His blonde hair was perfectly styled despite the casual clothes.

When he heard the door, his head snapped up. His expression shifted—a flash of genuine annoyance before he forced it into a tight, strained smile.

He tossed the iPad onto the coffee table and walked toward her, reaching for the handle of her suitcase.

"You're finally back," he said, his voice clipped. "You ignored my calls, didn't answer a single text. Where the hell have you been for three days, Arianna? The company has a dozen critical issues waiting for your approval, and I need you online."

His voice held a tiny, almost imperceptible note of probing. He was testing to see if she knew anything.

Arianna stepped to the side, avoiding his outstretched hand. She pushed the suitcase into the corner of the foyer herself.

"I just stayed at Clara's," she said smoothly. "Helped her with the baby. I needed a break from the screens."

Gregory stepped closer. He leaned in, aiming a kiss at her cheek.

Arianna casually reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, turning her head just enough.

His lips caught empty air.

Gregory cleared his throat awkwardly. He rubbed the side of his nose—a nervous habit he had whenever he felt out of control.

"Right. Well, I'm glad you're home," he said, turning toward the open kitchen. The marble countertops gleamed under the pendant lights. "Pinot Noir or sparkling water?"

"Wine," she said.

She took off her coat and walked into the massive walk-in closet. Rows of designer clothes lined the walls, organized by color. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor.

She reached for a wooden hanger. Her eyes fell on Gregory's Armani suit jacket, draped carelessly over the back of the velvet chair. The navy wool was crumpled, which was unlike him. He was meticulous about his clothes.

Without thinking, she reached out. She slipped her fingers into the inside breast pocket.

Her fingertips brushed against a small, hard cylinder.

She pulled it out. It was a glass vial. A perfume sample.

She pulled the tiny plastic cap off and brought it to her nose.

A sickeningly sweet, cheap floral scent hit her. It smelled like spun sugar and desperation. It was the exact opposite of the cold, woody scents she always wore—the ones Gregory had once said made her smell "like a CEO."

Arianna's fingers tightened around the tiny glass vial. Her knuckles turned white. A harsh, silent laugh shook her chest.

She shoved the cap back on, dropped the vial back into the pocket, and walked out of the closet.

Gregory was walking toward her, holding out a crystal glass of red wine. His smile was carefully measured.

Arianna took the glass. She looked him right in the eyes. His pale blue irises flickered.

"By the way," she said, her voice light and conversational. "What's with the perfume sample in your jacket pocket?"

Gregory's entire body went rigid. The wine in his own glass sloshed dangerously close to the rim.

He recovered a second later, but his eyes darted up and to the left. The universal tell of a liar constructing a story.

"Oh, that," he chuckled, forcing his shoulders to relax. "I walked past the fragrance counters at Saks yesterday. One of the sales girls practically shoved it into my hand. I thought you might want to try it."

Arianna stared at his face. His expression was perfectly composed, his posture easy. A masterful performance. Her stomach churned violently. She wanted to throw the dark red wine right into his eyes.

Instead, she lowered her eyelashes, hiding the absolute disgust in her gaze.

"Thanks," she murmured softly. "But it's a bit too sweet for me."

Gregory let out a quiet breath of relief. He took a large gulp of his wine to hide his nerves. "Yeah, I figured."

Arianna walked past him toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. She looked down at the moving lights of the city traffic below, the headlights and taillights streaming in opposite directions. Her brain was already calculating the legal steps required to sever their joint accounts.

Gregory walked up behind her. She could see his reflection in the glass. He reached out to wrap his arms around her waist.

Arianna stepped forward, placing her wine glass on the sill. "I'm exhausted from the flight. I need a shower."

She walked away without looking back. Her footsteps were steady, measured.

Gregory stood alone by the window, his brow furrowed, his reflection ghostly against the city lights. He felt a sudden, sharp loss of control, but he quickly brushed it off. She was just stressed about work. She always was.

At two in the morning, the penthouse was completely silent.

Arianna lay flat on her back on the right side of the king-sized bed. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the dark ceiling. She hadn't slept a single minute. The digital clock on her nightstand glowed red: 2:07 AM.

She listened carefully to the space beside her. Gregory's breathing was deep, heavy, and rhythmic. The sheets rustled slightly with each exhale.

To be absolutely sure, she rolled over. She let her arm fall heavily across his chest.

Gregory grunted softly in his sleep, shifting his weight, but his eyes remained shut. His face was slack, mouth slightly open. He was deeply under.

Arianna slowly pulled her arm back. She pushed the silk duvet off her legs, moving so slowly the fabric didn't make a sound.

She slipped out of bed. Her bare feet sank into the plush carpet, silent as she moved.

She walked around the foot of the bed, moving like a predator in the dark, until she reached his nightstand. The bedroom was so quiet she could hear the distant hum of the building's HVAC system.

His iPhone was sitting on the wireless charging pad. The screen was dark.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked it up. She pressed the side button.

The harsh blue light of the lock screen flared in the darkness. It felt blinding.

Arianna quickly cupped her hand over the top edge of the phone, shielding the light from hitting Gregory's face.

She swiped up. The keypad appeared.

She typed in her own birthday. It was the passcode he had used for years. He was so arrogant, so confident in her blind trust, that he hadn't even bothered to change it. The phone unlocked with a soft click.

She bypassed his emails and went straight to the iMessage app. Her thumb moved with surgical precision.

She scrolled past the group chats with the board members. Her eyes locked onto a conversation thread saved under the name 'Art Dept - Project K'. The label was innocuous, almost boring. But Arianna knew every project code in the company, and 'Project K' didn't exist. The most recent message had come in at 1:30 AM.

She tapped the thread.

The first thing she saw was a cartoon sticker of a crying bear.

My bed is so cold tonight. I need a hug, the text read.

Gregory had replied with a ten-second audio message.

Arianna couldn't play it. The sound would wake him. She scrolled up, her thumb swiping quickly over the screen. The blue light reflected in her narrowed eyes.

A photo loaded. It was Cristy. She was taking a mirror selfie in a cramped apartment bathroom, wearing a sheer black lace slip. Her auburn hair fell over her bare shoulders. The bathroom behind her was cluttered with makeup and hair products.

Do you like the new outfit? she had texted.

Gregory's reply made Arianna's throat close up.

You're a fucking menace. I wish I was there right now.

Arianna's grip on the phone tightened until the metal edges bit painfully into her palms. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead. She could feel her pulse pounding in her temples.

She forced herself to keep scrolling. She needed to see everything.

The conversation shifted to the office.

Arianna was such a bitch in the UI meeting today, Cristy wrote. She acts like a robot.

Gregory's response sat there in stark blue bubbles.

Let her be a robot. All she knows how to do is code. Trust me, she's just as stiff and boring in bed. Just ignore her.

Arianna bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted the sharp, metallic tang of blood. Her chest heaved. Her hand was shaking so badly she nearly dropped the phone. She wanted to smash it into his sleeping face.

She reached into the pocket of her silk pajama pants and pulled out her own phone.

She opened the camera, making sure the flash and sound were completely disabled.

She held her phone over his screen. She took a picture of the lingerie photo. She took a picture of his mocking texts. She scrolled and snapped, capturing every disgusting word, every incriminating exchange.

When she had over thirty photos, she swiped out of the app. She locked his phone and placed it exactly as she found it on the charging pad, angled the same way, at the same distance.