The bodyguard shoved the double doors open. He pushed Aubree hard from behind.

She stumbled into the massive, brightly lit VIP suite. Her knees gave out. She crashed onto the cold ceramic floor tiles.

Dayna sat in the hospital bed. She wore a designer silk gown. Her face was pale, but her eyes gleamed with victory.

Eli sat in a chair next to the bed. He held a plastic cup with a straw, gently holding it to Dayna's lips.

He heard the thud and turned his head. He saw Aubree sprawled on the floor. His eyes instantly turned to ice.

Eleonora and Camilla walked into the room. They stood behind Eli, crossing their arms.

Aubree gritted her teeth. Her knees screamed in pain. Her head spun from the fever. She pressed her palms against the floor and tried to push herself up.

Eleonora stepped forward and kicked Aubree hard in the back of the knee.

Aubree let out a muffled groan. Both of her knees slammed back onto the hard floor. She was forced into a kneeling position.

Eli watched his mother kick her. He didn't blink. He didn't tell his mother to stop. He set the plastic cup down on the tray table.

He stood up and walked over to Aubree. He looked down at her like she was a disease.

"Apologize to Dayna," Eli's voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "Apologize to the child you tried to kill."

Aubree lifted her head. Her wet hair stuck to her pale, bruised cheeks. Her eyes burned with defiance.

"I didn't push her," Aubree forced the words through her swollen throat. "She threw herself backward."

Dayna covered her face with her hands. She let out a loud, dramatic sob. "It's okay, Eli," Dayna cried. "Don't yell at her. Maybe I just slipped."

Dayna's tears acted like gasoline on Eli's rage. He bent down, grabbed the collar of Aubree's silk pajamas, and hauled her up to her feet.

He pulled her face inches from his. "You planned it perfectly," he roared. "Right in the camera blind spot."

Aubree stared into his eyes. This was the man she gave her kidney to. He looked like a complete stranger.

She didn't fight his grip. Instead, the corners of her bloody lips twitched. She let out a broken, mocking smile. "Are you blind, Eli?"

The mockery in her eyes snapped his control. He raised his right hand, pulling it back to strike her.

Aubree didn't flinch. She didn't close her eyes. She leaned her face forward, waiting for the hit that would end everything.

Eli's hand stopped in mid-air. He stared at her flushed, sickly face and the dark finger marks on her neck-marks his own hand had made just hours before. A sudden, violent wave of self-disgust, sharp and unexpected, hit his stomach. He was horrified by the physical evidence of his own monstrous loss of control. He shoved her backward, not out of revulsion for her, but for the unfamiliar, terrifying lack of discipline he felt in himself.

He pulled a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his right hand, as if touching her had infected him.

"Your lies mean nothing," Eli said coldly. "My lawyers will make sure you rot in Rikers Island."

Camilla held her phone up, recording the entire exchange.

Aubree slumped against the wall. Her body shook with fever, but she forced her spine straight.

She looked past Eli, straight at Dayna. "Karma will come for you," Aubree said. Her voice was dead and flat.

Dayna gasped and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Eli immediately stepped in front of the bed, shielding Dayna with his body.

He turned his back to Aubree. "Sign the confession and the agreement," he ordered. "And get out of New York."

Camilla pulled a thick stack of legal documents from her Birkin bag. She walked over to where Aubree leaned against the wall.

Camilla raised the papers and slapped them directly across Aubree's face.

The sharp edge of the thick paper sliced across Aubree's cheekbone. A thin line of blood welled up on her skin.

The papers scattered onto the floor. Aubree looked down. The top page read Non-Disclosure Agreement. The second page was a criminal confession of aggravated assault.

Dayna sniffled from the bed. "If you sign it, Aubree, I will tell the police not to press charges. I just want peace."

Eli stood with his arms crossed. "This is your only chance to avoid a prison cell."

Aubree stared at the dense paragraphs of legal text. A bitter smile touched her lips.

The clauses stated she would leave the marriage with zero assets, and she was permanently banned from speaking about the Wolfe family to the press.

She lifted her chin. Her voice was raspy but firm. "I will not sign a confession for something I didn't do."

Eleonora let out a dry laugh. She reached into her purse and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

"This is a draft of an academic fraud report," Eleonora said. "It details how your brother, Keagan Pratt, falsified data in his latest Ivy League research paper."

Aubree's pupils dilated. Her breath hitched. Keagan was her only family. His academic career was his entire life.

"If you don't sign," Eleonora threatened, "this goes to the university board tomorrow morning. His career will be over."

Aubree's head snapped toward Eli. "You are a part of this?" she whispered, her voice shaking with horror.

Eli looked away. He stared at the blank wall. "I will do whatever it takes to protect Dayna."

That sentence killed the last beating piece of Aubree's heart. The light completely vanished from her eyes.

She took a deep breath. Her shaking hand reached down and picked up the papers from the floor.

Camilla smirked and held out a heavy Montblanc pen.

Aubree grabbed the pen. Her fingers trembled so violently from the fever and rage that she could barely hold it.

She pressed the nib to the paper. She signed her name at the bottom of the confession and the NDA. She pressed so hard the pen tore through the paper.

Camilla wasn't done. She pulled a small, red ink pad from her pocket and flipped it open.

She grabbed Aubree's right hand. She forced Aubree's thumb down into the wet red ink.

Aubree tried to pull her arm back, but she had no strength left. Camilla's grip was like iron.

Camilla slammed Aubree's ink-stained thumb onto the signature line.

A bright red fingerprint stained the crisp white paper. It looked like blood. It was a brand of ultimate humiliation.

Camilla snatched the papers away and flicked the edge of the pages with her fingernail.

Aubree slid down the wall until she sat on the floor. She stared at the red ink on her thumb.

Suddenly, a low, quiet laugh escaped her throat.

The sound was hollow and terrifying. It echoed in the quiet hospital room. Eli's stomach tightened. A sudden spike of anxiety hit his chest.

Aubree grabbed the metal railing of the bed and pulled herself up. She didn't look at Eli. She didn't look at anyone.

She turned around and pushed the heavy door open. She walked out into the freezing hospital corridor alone.

Three days later.

The showerhead blasted freezing cold water against Aubree's bare back.

She had spent the last seventy-two hours in a hellish fever dream, surviving only on ibuprofen and pure rage. The fever finally broke.

She reached out and twisted the metal handle, shutting off the water. She wiped the steam from the mirror. The woman looking back at her was pale, but her eyes were sharp and lethal.

She walked into the massive walk-in closet. She grabbed the white silk loungewear she used to wear for Eli and threw it into the trash can.

She reached into the back of the closet and pulled out a sharply tailored, jet-black designer suit. She put it on. The sharp lines of the blazer made her look like a weapon.

She walked into the living room and stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows. She looked down at the Manhattan traffic. She felt absolutely nothing.

She sat at the heavy oak desk and opened her MacBook. She typed in a complex password and logged into a hidden cloud server.

She selected every single photo, video, and message involving Eli Wolfe. She clicked delete. She emptied the trash bin.

Next, she opened a hidden compartment in the desk drawer. She pulled out a stack of highly confidential design sketches-the early, unreleased works of "Madame Lan." She didn't dare take them with her into the impending warzone. Instead, she fed them one by one into the heavy-duty cross-cut shredder beneath the desk, having already uploaded the encrypted high-resolution scans to a secure offshore server. She then grabbed a stack of useless, decoy fashion magazines and slid them into a sleek black leather briefcase.

The private elevator dinged.

Eli stepped out. He wore a dark grey tailored suit. His face was hard. His chief assistant, Leland Finch, walked beside him.

Behind them walked four men in expensive suits carrying briefcases. The Wolfe family's elite divorce lawyers.

Two bodyguards stayed by the elevator, blocking the only exit.

Eli walked into the living room. He expected to see Aubree crying on the floor. He stopped in his tracks.

Aubree sat on the Italian leather sofa. She wore a black suit. Her spine was perfectly straight. Her eyes were cold and indifferent.

Eli felt a strange, irritating itch in his chest. He had never seen her look like this.

Aubree didn't stand up. She tilted her chin up and gestured to the sofa opposite her.

Eli clenched his jaw. He sat down and crossed his legs, trying to maintain his dominance.

Leland looked at Aubree with a hint of pity. He pushed a thick stack of documents across the glass coffee table.

The lead lawyer spoke in a robotic voice. "This is the final divorce settlement. Because you signed the confession, you forfeit all equity clauses in the prenuptial agreement."

Aubree stared at the lawyer. She didn't even glance at the paper.

Eli stared at her face, searching for a crack in her mask. He wanted to see her beg.

Aubree cut the lawyer off. "Give me the number. How much?"

Eli's eyes narrowed. He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "There it is. The mask comes off."

Leland cleared his throat. "Fifty million dollars. A lump sum payment."

For a three-year marriage to a billionaire, it was an insulting amount.

"The condition," the lawyer added, "is that you vacate this penthouse today and never contact Mr. Wolfe again."

Aubree's lips curved into a cold, arrogant smirk. She looked at Leland and held out her hand. "Give me the pen."