It was 2:00 AM. The penthouse was pitch black. Amy sat in the center of the large living room sofa. She had not turned on a single lamp. She sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap, staring at the front door.

The electronic keypad beeped. The heavy door clicked open.

Brigham walked in. The cold night air clung to his wool coat. He reached out and flipped the wall switch. The crystal chandelier flooded the room with harsh light.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw Amy sitting there. His eyes flickered with exhaustion. He rubbed his jaw, the muscle there ticking visibly.

He walked over to the coffee table. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, square box. The Sotheby's logo was stamped in gold on the top. He set it down on the glass table.

"Giselle's charity foundation needed a centerpiece for their upcoming auction," he said. His voice was low, trying to sound reasonable. "The piece had a complicated ownership history tied to a Myers Corp. subsidiary. I had to be there to sign off on the legal transfer. That's all it was."

He flipped the box open. A massive pink diamond necklace sparkled against the black velvet. "I saw this and thought of you. It's an apology for missing the dinner."

Amy did not look at the diamond. She looked at his face. Her eyes were completely dead.

"Do you think you can just buy my forgiveness?" she asked. Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. "Every time you humiliate me, you throw a piece of jewelry at me like I'm a dog."

Brigham's face darkened. He hated when she pushed back like this. He unbuttoned his coat and threw it over a chair.

"You are being unreasonable, Amy." He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Giselle is alone in the city. She has no one else to help her navigate these circles. We are just friends."

"Friends." Amy let out a short, sharp laugh. The sound held no humor. It was pure acid. It scraped against Brigham's nerves.

The air in the room grew heavy and suffocating. Brigham stood up. "I am not doing this tonight. I am going to the guest room."

He took two steps before his phone vibrated violently against the glass table. The screen lit up. Giselle's name flashed in bright white letters.

Brigham snatched the phone and answered it. "Yes?"

Through the quiet room, Amy could hear the high-pitched, hysterical sobbing coming from the speaker. "Brigham! I can't breathe! My chest hurts so much. Please, I'm scared. Please come."

All the color drained from Brigham's face. He didn't even hesitate. He grabbed his car keys from the bowl by the door.

Amy stood up. Her knees locked. "If you walk out that door right now, we are done. What are we, Brigham?"

Brigham stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He did not turn around. His knuckles were white gripping the metal.

"She is having a severe panic attack. Her life might be in danger. Stop acting like a child."

He pulled the door open and stepped out. The heavy door slammed shut behind him. The loud bang echoed off the high ceilings.

Amy stood in the middle of the room. A physical pain ripped through her chest, so sharp she gasped for air. It felt like an invisible hand had reached into her ribs and crushed her heart.

She slowly sank to the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She waited for the tears to come. But her eyes were completely dry. There was nothing left to cry out.

Ten minutes passed. She stood up. Her face was calm. The chaotic pain was gone, replaced by a freezing, absolute certainty.

She walked into the massive walk-in closet. She pulled down a medium-sized suitcase. She packed three pairs of jeans, some sweaters, her lab coats, and her passport.

She walked past the rows of designer dresses Brigham had bought her. She ignored the velvet display cases filled with diamonds and emeralds. She did not touch a single thing he had paid for.

She walked back into the living room. She picked up the Sotheby's box with the pink diamond. She walked to the kitchen and dropped it into the trash can, right on top of the velvet box from yesterday.

At 3:00 AM, Amy rolled her suitcase out of the penthouse. She did not look back.

She stood on the curb and hailed a yellow cab. "Take me to the Columbia University staff housing," she told the driver.

She sat in the back seat. She pulled out her phone. She opened her contacts, found Brigham's name, and hit 'Block Caller'. She turned the screen off and watched the city lights blur past the window.

One week later. The fluorescent lights of the university biology lab hummed loudly. Amy stared through the lenses of her microscope, adjusting the focus knob. The repetitive nature of the cell counting was the only thing keeping her mind from spiraling.

The heavy lab door swung open and banged against the wall. Chloe Nash, her coworker, stood there looking uncomfortable. "Amy, the Dean wants to see you in his office. Right now."

Amy pulled off her safety goggles. She rubbed her tired eyes and walked down the hall to the administrative building.

Dean Alistair Cromwell sat behind his massive mahogany desk. He had a wide, fake smile plastered on his face. He pushed a printed itinerary across the desk.

"Amy, I need you to act as the university's representative this afternoon. We are hosting a very important donor for a campus tour."

Amy glanced at the paper. The name at the top was printed in bold letters: Brigham Myers.

Her stomach dropped. She pushed the paper back. "I can't do this, Dean Cromwell. I have a critical deadline for the glacier ecology data tomorrow."

The Dean's smile vanished. His eyes turned cold and hard. "Mr. Myers just donated fifty million dollars for the new modern art wing. The board is giving the naming rights to a new trustee he recommended. This is a political necessity, Dr. Torres."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "If you refuse this assignment, I will personally see to it that your research funding for the next academic year is completely frozen. That includes your clearance for the Antarctica project."

Amy's jaw clenched. She bit the inside of her cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Her career, her escape plan to Antarctica, was entirely in this man's hands.

"Fine. I will do it."

At 2:00 PM, Amy stood on the concrete steps of the main administrative building. She wore a stiff, gray pencil skirt and a white button-down shirt.

Three black, armored SUVs rolled into the campus plaza. Students stopped walking. Media photographers, tipped off by the university PR team, raised their cameras. The flashes started popping like strobe lights.

The middle SUV stopped. The door opened. Brigham stepped out. He looked immaculate in a dark navy suit. He stood tall, exuding power and control.

He did not look at the crowd. He walked around to the other side of the vehicle and opened the door. He reached inside and carefully lifted a woman out, placing her gently into a sleek, custom wheelchair.

It was Giselle. She wore large dark sunglasses and a soft cashmere blanket draped over her legs. She looked incredibly fragile.

Amy watched them. A wave of nausea hit her stomach so hard she had to swallow back bile. She forced her facial muscles into a polite, professional smile and walked down the steps.

Dean Cromwell rushed forward. "Mr. Myers! Welcome. This is Dr. Torres, our top researcher. She will be leading your tour today."

Brigham looked up. His eyes locked onto Amy. A muscle in his jaw twitched violently. His fingers tightened on the handles of the wheelchair. He clearly had no idea she worked at this specific campus.

Giselle slowly pulled off her sunglasses. She looked up at Amy. A sweet, victorious smile spread across her face. "Hello, Amy."

The tour began. Amy held a small megaphone. She walked backward, reciting the history of the brick buildings and the library. Her voice was completely monotone.

Brigham pushed Giselle's wheelchair. He stayed right behind her, never leaving her side. He did not look at the buildings Amy pointed out.

Kade Vance walked next to them. He laughed loudly, pointing at a statue. "Hey Giselle, maybe they'll put a statue of you in front of the new art wing. The future Mrs. Myers deserves it, right?"

Kade completely ignored Amy's presence. He spoke as if she was invisible.

Brigham did not correct Kade. He did not tell him to shut up. Instead, he leaned down and asked Giselle if she needed a bottle of water.

The silence from Brigham was a public endorsement. He was letting his friend humiliate his legal wife in front of dozens of students and cameras.

The students walking by started whispering. Some pointed at Amy. The pity in their eyes was worse than the mockery.

Amy's knuckles turned stark white as she gripped the handle of the megaphone. Her fingernails dug into the plastic. She kept her back straight and continued walking.

Giselle watched Amy's rigid posture. Her eyes narrowed with malice. She let her hand drop casually to the side of the wheelchair. Her fingers brushed against the metal brake lever.

The tour group moved toward the back of the campus. This area was famous for its historical architecture and a long, steep slope paved entirely with uneven cobblestones.

Dean Cromwell clapped his hands. "Let's go to the observation deck at the top of the hill for a group photo!"

Brigham gripped the handles of the wheelchair and began pushing Giselle up the incline. The rubber tires bumped roughly over the stones.

Halfway up, Brigham's phone rang. It was a special ringtone for his head of security. He stopped pushing. He answered the phone, his face turning serious.

He looked over his shoulder at Amy. "Come here. Hold the chair for a minute."

Amy froze. Every instinct in her body screamed to walk away. But Dean Cromwell glared at her, his eyes silently threatening her research funding.

She walked over. She placed her hands on the rubber grips of the handles. She stood as far back as her arms would allow, keeping maximum physical distance from Giselle. She pushed upward.

They neared the top of the hill. The slope here was the steepest.

Giselle suddenly turned her head. She looked over her shoulder right at Amy. Her lips curled into a dark, twisted smile.

Before Amy could react, Giselle's hand snapped down. She violently unlatched the brake on the right wheel that she had secretly engaged. At the exact same moment, Giselle threw her entire upper body weight backward against the seat.

The sudden shift in momentum yanked the heavy wheelchair backward. The wheels hit a large gap in the cobblestones.

The chair violently tipped backward.

The massive weight of the chair and Giselle pulled Amy forward. Amy lost her footing on the slick stones. She fell hard to her knees, but her hands clamped down on the handles in a desperate attempt to stop the chair from flipping.

Giselle reached back. Her manicured fingers clamped around Amy's wrist like a vice. Her sharp acrylic nails dug deep into Amy's flesh, breaking the skin.

"Ahhhhh!" Giselle let out a blood-curdling scream.

The wheelchair completely tipped over sideways. Both women crashed hard onto the brutal cobblestone path.

Chaos erupted. The media photographers lunged forward, their cameras clicking furiously, capturing the disaster from every angle.

Brigham dropped his phone. He spun around. He saw the overturned chair. He sprinted down the slope like a madman.

Amy lay on the ground. When she fell, she had thrown her hands out to protect her head. The rough, jagged stones had ripped the skin off her right palm. Blood poured from a deep gash, dripping onto the gray rocks.

The pain was blinding. She gritted her teeth and pushed herself up onto her left elbow.

Brigham reached them. He didn't even glance at Amy. He stepped right over her legs and dropped to his knees beside Giselle.

Giselle threw her arms around Brigham's neck. She buried her face in his chest, sobbing hysterically. "She pushed me!" She pointed a shaking finger at Amy. "She let go of the handles and shoved my back! She tried to kill me!"

The entire crowd gasped. Every camera lens swung to point directly at Amy's face.

Amy's eyes widened in shock. She held up her bleeding right hand. "No! I didn't push her! The chair slipped!"

Brigham's head snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot. The veins in his neck bulged. He glared at Amy with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust.

"I can't believe you are this vicious." His voice was a low, terrifying growl that carried over the crowd.

The words hit Amy like a bullet to the chest. The air left her lungs. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Dean Cromwell rushed over, pointing a finger at Amy. "Dr. Torres! This is unacceptable behavior! You will be severely disciplined for this!"

Brigham didn't wait. He scooped Giselle up into his arms. He turned his back on Amy and carried Giselle down the hill toward the waiting SUVs.

The engines roared to life. The black cars sped away, leaving the campus.

Amy sat alone on the cold cobblestones. The photographers crowded around her, flashing lights directly into her eyes. She looked down at her right hand. The blood was pooling in her palm, thick and red.

A dry, hollow laugh escaped her throat. It was so absurd. It was so completely hopeless. She sat there and laughed while her hand bled.