The morning sun hit Victoria's face like an accusation. She woke up alone, stretched diagonally across the massive bed. The sheets on the other side were pristine, unwrinkled. A cold reminder of the night before.

Downstairs, the house was already buzzing. Victoria could hear the sharp click-clack of Eleanor's heels on the marble foyer.

She dressed quickly-a conservative navy sheath dress, pearls. The uniform of the repentant wife.

When she reached the breakfast room, Eleanor was inspecting the silverware.

Where is Julian? Eleanor asked without looking up.

He left early for the office, Victoria lied. She poured herself coffee, her hand steady.

Eleanor turned. Her eyes scanned Victoria's body, lingering on her abdomen as if she had X-ray vision. And? Was the night productive?

Victoria took a sip of coffee. It burned her tongue. He was... exhausted, Eleanor. The market volatility.

Eleanor slammed a silver spoon onto the table. Excuses! Men are never too exhausted for what they want. If he is tired, it is because you are not inspiring him.

Victoria set her cup down. I am doing my best.

Your best is not enough. Eleanor snapped her fingers. Mrs. Jiang!

The housekeeper appeared with a tiered bento box. It was lacquered black wood, tied with a gold silk ribbon.

Unagi, Eleanor said. Eel. It promotes stamina. You will take this to him for lunch. Sit with him. Ensure he eats it. Remind him of his home.

I have a meeting with the charity board at noon, Victoria tried.

Cancel it. Eleanor turned back to the silverware. Your priority is Sterling Corp's future, not saving whales.

Two hours later, Victoria stood in the lobby of the Sterling Tower. The glass and steel structure pierced the Manhattan sky like a needle.

She carried the bento box. It felt heavy, like a bomb she was transporting.

The receptionist, a young girl named Sarah who looked at Victoria with a mix of pity and awe, smiled. Mrs. Sterling! Julian-Mr. Sterling-is in a strategy meeting, but I can buzz you up.

Thank you, Sarah.

Victoria took the private executive elevator. It rose smoothly, fifty floors in seconds.

The doors opened to the executive suite. It was quiet here. Thick carpets absorbed sound. The walls were glass.

Victoria walked toward Julian's corner office. The blinds were partially drawn, slats of aluminum cutting the view into strips.

She reached for the handle, then stopped.

Through the gap in the blinds, she saw them.

Julian was sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair. He was laughing.

It wasn't the cruel laugh from last night. It was a genuine laugh. His head was thrown back, his eyes crinkled at the corners. He looked five years younger.

Elena was sitting on the edge of his desk.

She was wearing a skirt that was definitely not regulation length. Her legs were crossed, swinging slightly. She held a tablet, reading something to him.

She stopped reading and said something. She reached out and brushed a piece of lint-or nothing-off his lapel. Her hand lingered.

Julian didn't swat her away. He smiled at her. A soft, indulgent smile.

Victoria felt like she had been punched in the gut.

She looked down at the bento box in her hand. The unagi for stamina. The pathetic attempt to buy his affection with food.

She felt ridiculous. She felt small.

Elena looked up. She saw movement through the blinds. Her eyes locked with Victoria's.

Elena didn't look away. She didn't jump off the desk. She smiled. A slow, triumphant smirk. She leaned closer to Julian, whispering something in his ear.

Julian turned his head, but Victoria had already moved.

She backed away from the door. Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps.

She walked quickly down the corridor toward the service area. There was a large, industrial trash can there.

She didn't hesitate. She opened the bento box. The smell of grilled eel and sweet sauce wafted up.

She dumped it. The rice, the eel, the gold ribbon. All of it.

She slammed the lid of the trash can shut.

Mrs. Sterling?

Victoria spun around. Xavier, Julian's executive assistant, stood there holding a stack of files. He looked at the trash can, then at her empty hands.

Hello, Xavier, Victoria said. Her voice was brittle.

Did you... need something? Xavier asked. He glanced toward the office, knowing exactly who was in there.

No, Victoria said. I was just leaving.

She walked past him toward the elevator. She pressed the button.

The arrow lit up. Down.

Escape.

But as she waited, the anger returned. It wasn't the hot rage from the club. It was colder. Sharper.

Why should she run? She was the wife. She was the future mother of his heir. She was the one with the ring.

Elena was a squatter.

The elevator dinged. The doors opened.

Victoria didn't get in.

She turned around. She smoothed her dress. She adjusted her pearls.

Xavier watched her, confused.

Change of plans, Xavier, she said.

She walked back toward the office. She didn't walk softly this time. Her heels struck the floor with a rhythmic, martial beat.

She wasn't going to deliver lunch. She was going to deliver a message.

Victoria didn't knock. She placed her palm flat against the frosted glass door and shoved it open. It swung inward with a heavy, pneumatic swoosh.

The laughter inside cut off instantly.

Julian snapped his head up. His expression shifted from relaxed to annoyed in a nanosecond. Elena scrambled off the desk, smoothing her skirt, but she didn't move far enough away. She hovered in his orbit, a satellite of silk and perfume.

Victoria walked in. She didn't stop at the door. She walked straight to the leather sofa area in the center of the room and sat down. She crossed her legs, placing her purse beside her. She looked comfortable. She looked like she owned the building.

Sorry to interrupt your... strategy session, she said. She let the word hang in the air, coated in sarcasm.

Julian frowned. What are you doing here, Victoria?

Your mother sent me, she said, checking her nails. She thought you might be hungry. She sent lunch.

Julian looked at her empty hands. Where is it?

I threw it away, Victoria said pleasantly. I saw you were already eating out of someone's hand. I didn't want to overfeed you.

Elena gasped. Mrs. Sterling! That is-

Victoria's head snapped toward her. The movement was so sharp it was almost audible.

I wasn't speaking to you, Miss Vance.

Elena flinched, her eyes tearing up instantly. She looked at Julian, the damsel in distress signal activated. Julian, she's doing it again.

Julian stood up. That's enough, Victoria. Apologize to her.

Apologize? Victoria stood up too. She walked over to the desk. She stood toe-to-toe with Elena.

She looked the girl up and down. It was a clinical, dissecting gaze.

"Miss Vance," Victoria said, her voice dripping with the sort of false concern one uses for a child who has misbehaved at a funeral. "We aren't at a beach club in the Hamptons. In corporate environments, we generally prefer our assistants to leave something to the imagination. It's about... decorum."

She gestured vaguely at Elena's hemline.

"Perhaps if you spent less time shopping in the junior section and more time managing Julian's calendar, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Elena turned scarlet. Julian!

Julian slammed his hand on the desk. Get out, Victoria! You have no right to come in here and harass my staff.

I have every right, Victoria turned on him. I am your wife. And frankly, Julian, your taste in staff reflects poorly on the family name. It looks... desperate.

Julian's eyes narrowed. Are you threatening me?

I'm protecting you, she said softly.

She leaned over the desk. She reached out and touched his tie. It was a dark blue silk.

Also, she whispered, her voice dropping to an intimate purr. You might want to check your tie. There's a smudge of lipstick on it.

It was a lie. A bluff.

But Julian flinched. His eyes darted down to his chest. His hand came up automatically to cover the spot.

Gotcha, Victoria thought.

She laughed. It was a cold, victorious sound.

You looked, she said.

Julian froze. He realized he had been played. His face darkened with fury.

Victoria stepped back. Pathetic, she said.

She turned and walked to the door. She didn't look back.

Goodbye, Julian. Try to get some actual work done.

She exited the office, the door swinging shut behind her.

Inside, the silence was deafening.

Elena sniffled. She moved toward Julian, reaching for his arm. Oh, Julian, she's so cruel. I don't know why you stay with her.

Julian stared at the door. His heart was pounding. Not from anger, exactly. But from adrenaline.

He looked at Elena. She was pouting. Her mascara was perfect. She looked like Seraphina. She looked exactly like Seraphina.

But for the first time in three years, looking at her didn't make him feel comforted. It made him feel... bored.

He looked down at his tie. The tie he had checked. The tie he had been terrified was marked.

Why had he checked? He hadn't kissed Elena. He had never kissed Elena.

But Victoria's accusation had made him panic. Because he felt guilty. Not for what he had done, but for what he had wanted to do.

Elena's hand touched his arm. Julian?

He pulled away.

Get out, he said.

Elena blinked. What?

Leave the office, Elena. I need to work.

But-

Now! he barked.

Elena recoiled as if slapped. She grabbed her tablet and scurried out of the room.

Julian stood alone in the silence. He reached up and loosened his tie. He ripped it off and threw it into the trash can.

He walked to the window and looked down at the street, fifty floors below. He tried to spot a tiny figure in a navy dress, but she was already gone.

The dinner table was a battlefield of silence. The only sounds were the scraping of silver against china and the ticking of the grandfather clock.

Julian had come home early. He was still wearing his work clothes, minus the tie. He looked agitated. He kept tapping his foot against the table leg.

Victoria sat opposite him, cutting her steak into precise, geometric squares. She chewed slowly.

Are you going to stare at me all night? Julian asked finally.

I'm just enjoying the view, Victoria said without looking up.

He scoffed. You made a scene today. Xavier tells me the whole floor is gossiping.

Good, Victoria said. Maybe it will remind everyone who your wife is.

Julian pushed his plate away. The steak was barely touched. I'm done. I want coffee. Espresso. Double shot.

He signaled for Mrs. Jiang, but Victoria stood up.

I'll get it, she said.

Julian looked surprised. You? You don't know how to work the machine.

I've been learning, she said sweetly. Sit. Relax.

She walked into the kitchen. Mrs. Jiang was there, drying dishes.

You can go, Mrs. Jiang, Victoria said. I'll handle the coffee.

But Madam-

Go.

Mrs. Jiang nodded and left.

Victoria went to the massive Italian espresso machine. She ground the beans. The noise was loud, grinding and mechanical.

She reached into the pocket of her cardigan. She pulled out a small, brown glass bottle.

It wasn't a laxative. That would be childish. It was a concentrated herbal tincture. Valerian root, St. John's Wort, and a specific blend of melatonin. Harmless, but in high doses, it induced dizziness, a rapid heart rate, and a sensation of floating-mimicking the onset of a panic attack or extreme exhaustion.

She looked at the bottle. She looked at the cup.

"This is for the club," she whispered. Two drops.

"This is for the lunchbox." Two more drops.

"This is for checking your tie." A squeeze.

She swirled the dark liquid into the black coffee. It disappeared instantly. No smell. No color change.

She added a single sugar cube, just to be nice.

She walked back into the dining room. She placed the cup in front of him on a saucer.

Here, she said. Made with love.

Julian looked at the cup. He looked at her. He narrowed his eyes.

Did you poison it? he asked.

Victoria's heart skipped a beat, but her face remained a mask of polite confusion. Don't be dramatic, Julian. If I wanted to kill you, I'd do it in your sleep. It's cleaner.

He snorted. True.

He picked up the cup.

Victoria held her breath. She watched the cup tilt. She watched his throat work as he swallowed.

He drank half of it in one gulp. He grimaced.

It's bitter, he said.

It's espresso, she said. It's supposed to be bitter.

He finished the rest. He set the cup down with a clatter.

Victoria sat back down. She picked up her wine glass. She waited.

It took twenty minutes.

Julian was reading a report on his tablet. Victoria was pretending to read a magazine.

Suddenly, Julian frowned. He rubbed his chest.

He shifted in his chair.

A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. His breathing hitched.

Victoria watched over the top of her magazine. Is everything okay, darling?

Julian gritted his teeth. I'm fine. Just... hot. Is the heat on?

He loosened his collar. His hands were shaking.

"I feel..." he started, then stopped. The room was spinning. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. It felt exactly like the episodes he used to have. The ones he took medication to suppress.

Julian's eyes widened. He dropped the tablet.

He stood up. He swayed violently, gripping the table edge.

Victoria? he gasped. What did you put in that coffee?

Coffee? Victoria blinked. Just beans and water. And sugar. Maybe your stomach is sensitive to the roast? Or perhaps you're just stressed, Julian. You work so hard.

Julian didn't answer. He couldn't. The walls were closing in.

He stumbled toward the hallway.

He didn't walk. He lurched. He needed air. He needed a doctor.

"Call... call Xavier," he choked out, collapsing onto the bottom step of the grand staircase.

Victoria put down her magazine. She picked up her wine glass. She took a long, slow sip of the Pinot Noir.

She watched her husband unraveling, fighting demons that weren't really there.

She smiled. A genuine smile.

It wasn't a divorce. It wasn't a victory. But god, it felt good.

She stood up, walked to the kitchen, and rinsed the coffee cup thoroughly. No evidence.

Then she picked up the phone to call 911, making sure her voice sounded sufficiently hysterical.