The winter sun glared off the grey pavement outside the Marriage Bureau, making Jocelyn squint.

It was done.

She held the marriage certificate in her hand like a weapon. The paper was flimsy, but the power it held was immense. It was her key. Her shield. Her eyes scanned the document, but the words blurred. All she could focus on was the official seal and the single, beautiful word at the top: MARRIED. The details, the names... they were just static. The goal was achieved.

"It's done," she said, half to herself.

Gaston stood beside her on the concrete steps. He checked his phone, a frown creasing his forehead.

"I have to meet with my lawyers," he said. "I'll have a key sent to you."

Jocelyn looked up at him. "I'm not moving in yet. I have things to settle. I need to pack."

Gaston nodded. He didn't push. He seemed to understand that she needed space to dismantle her old life before she could step into this strange new one.

"As you wish," he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, matte black business card. It had no company name, no title. Just a phone number embossed in silver and a monogram in the center: GC.

Jocelyn frowned, taking the card. "GC? For... Babe?"

Gaston didn't blink. "It's a family name," he lied smoothly. "Gaston. 'Babe' is a nickname I'm trying to outgrow."

She accepted this. It made sense. If he was trying to clean up his image, dropping the ridiculous nickname was step one.

"Okay, Gaston."

He raised a hand, and a yellow cab pulled up instantly, as if summoned by his will alone. He opened the door for her.

"Call me," he said. It sounded like an order, but his eyes were soft.

Jocelyn nodded and slid into the cab. She watched him through the rear window as the taxi pulled away. He stood there, a dark statue against the bustle of the city, watching her until she turned the corner.

She turned back, her heart racing.

Step one: Done.

Step two: Scorched earth.

She pulled out her phone. She opened Instagram. Block. She opened WhatsApp. Block. She opened iMessage. Block.

She erased Kieran Douglas from her digital existence.

Then, she dialed.

Elouise answered on the second ring.

"Well?" Her mother's voice was smug. "Are you ready to accept Mr. Henderson's invitation? He's quite eager to meet you."

"I'm married," Jocelyn announced. Her voice was calm, steady, devoid of the trembling fear she used to feel when talking to her mother.

Silence. Absolute, stunned silence on the other end of the line.

Then, "What? To whom?"

"A businessman," Jocelyn said. "The certificate is filed. Release the trust."

"You ungrateful brat!" Elouise shrieked. The composure cracked. "Who is he? Did you pick up some waiter? I will have it annulled!"

"Someone with enough assets that I don't need yours," Jocelyn bluffed. She hoped Babe Vincent had money left. "I want the deed to the Wolfe Hamptons estate transferred by tomorrow."

"That house is Aspen's for the summer!" Elouise protested. "She's already planning her engagement party there!"

"It was my father's," Jocelyn cut her off. "It's in the trust. Transfer it, or my lawyers will audit the Schneider accounts."

The line went quiet again. The threat hung heavy in the air. The Schneiders lived lavishly, but everyone knew their liquidity was questionable. An audit would be catastrophic.

"Fine," Elouise spit the word out like poison. "Take the damn house. But don't expect a penny more from me."

"I don't want your money, Mother. I just want what's mine."

Jocelyn hung up.

A rush of adrenaline flooded her veins. It felt like oxygen. For the first time in years, she could breathe.

"Where to, lady?" the cab driver asked, eyeing her in the rearview mirror.

"Upper West Side," Jocelyn said. "The Penthouse on 72nd."

She had to go back. She had to pack.

When she arrived at Kieran's building, the doorman, a kind older man named Ralph, tipped his hat. He looked at her with sad eyes. He had probably seen the Page Six article too.

"Good morning, Ms. Wolfe," he said gently.

"Good morning, Ralph."

She took the elevator up, the numbers climbing steadily. 10... 20... 30...

She stepped into the penthouse. It was silent. Kieran wasn't back yet.

She walked to the guest room. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She just worked.

She pulled her suitcases from the closet. She packed her clothes, her books, her expensive skincare. She stripped the bed sheets she had bought with her own money. It was petty, but she didn't care. She wasn't leaving him anything.

She walked to the kitchen. She placed her key on the marble counter, right next to a half-empty coffee mug Kieran had left days ago. Mold was starting to grow on the surface of the liquid.

She looked at her left hand. It was bare.

She realized she had forgotten to get a ring.

"Fake husband, fake marriage," she muttered to herself.

She dragged her suitcases to the elevator. The wheels rumbled loudly on the floor, a sound of finality.

The office of Elbert Collins occupied the entire top floor of the Collins Tower. It was a space designed to intimidate, filled with dark mahogany, leather, and the scent of aged scotch.

Gaston walked in, bypassing the three secretaries who jumped to their feet. He threw the marriage certificate onto his father's massive desk.

Elbert Collins, a man who looked like a lion in the twilight of its life-scarred, grey, but still dangerous-picked up the paper. He adjusted his spectacles.

"Jocelyn Wolfe?" Elbert read the name. He looked up, his eyes narrowing. "The girl from the Douglas mess? The one in the papers this morning?"

"She's the one," Gaston confirmed. He walked to the crystal decanter and poured himself a drink. He didn't offer one to his father.

"She thinks I'm Babe Vincent," Gaston added, taking a sip. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Elbert laughed. It was a dry, rasping sound, like sandpaper on wood. "You married her under a pseudonym? Is that legal?"

"I used my legal name," Gaston said. "Gaston Collins. She just... didn't read the fine print. She thinks 'Collins' is a common name. She doesn't realize which Collins."

"Douglas is going to lose his mind," Elbert mused, placing the certificate down. "Good. We need his market share. If he's distracted by a personal scandal, it makes the acquisition easier."

"Protect her," Gaston ordered. His voice dropped, losing its amusement. "No leaks about my identity until I say so. I want the legal team ready to bury anyone who bothers her."

Elbert nodded slowly. He looked at his son with a newfound respect. "Welcome to the family, Mrs. Collins."

Across the city, Jocelyn was dragging her life out of the penthouse.

Mrs. Higgins, the housekeeper, entered the hallway just as Jocelyn was hauling the second suitcase toward the door.

"Ms. Wolfe?" Mrs. Higgins asked, her hands clutching a duster.

Jocelyn turned. "I'm leaving, Mrs. Higgins. For good."

The older woman's face softened. She looked relieved. "He doesn't deserve you, dear. I've been saying it to my husband for years."

"If he asks," Jocelyn said, pausing. "Tell him... actually, tell him nothing."

"My lips are sealed," Mrs. Higgins promised.

Jocelyn stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut, cutting off the view of the apartment where she had wasted two years of her life.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Bank Alert: Credit Line Activated. Sponsored by Collins Capital Partners. Balance Available: $12,000,000.

Jocelyn stared at the number. She saw the word 'Collins' but dismissed it as the name of a generic financial firm her mother's lawyers used. The amount was what mattered. A wave of relief washed over her, so intense her knees almost buckled. She had resources now. She wasn't just a discarded girlfriend; she was a woman with capital.

She called a moving service to pick up the rest of her boxes and take them to storage.

Downstairs, she hailed a cab.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Jocelyn hesitated. The Hamptons house wouldn't be ready until tomorrow. The staff needed to open it up. She couldn't go there tonight.

"The Plaza Hotel," Jocelyn said. "Fifth Avenue."

She had money now. She could afford a suite.

As the yellow cab pulled away from the curb, merging into the traffic, a black SUV with tinted windows pulled up to the entrance of the building.

The door opened, and two large men in suits stepped out. Kieran's security detail. They were returning early to sweep the apartment before his arrival.

They missed her by thirty seconds.

Jocelyn watched the building recede through the rear window. She was homeless, technically. But for the first time, she felt free.

Two days later.

The breakroom at Douglas Tech was a sterile environment of brushed steel and aggressive fluorescent lighting. Jocelyn stood in front of the coffee machine, staring blankly at the slow drip of the dark liquid.

She shouldn't be here. She had the money. She had the husband. She had the house.

But she also had a sense of professional duty that bordered on masochism. And Kieran still had the physical keys to the safe where the Henderson merger files were kept. She couldn't just email them. She had to retrieve them and hand them over to close the loop.

Two junior analysts walked in, laughing. They didn't see her tucked in the corner by the machine.

"Did you see Kieran's post this morning?" one asked, grabbing a water bottle. "Aspen looks like a queen. That dress cost more than my tuition."

"What about Jocelyn?" the other guy snickered. "Isn't she still his EA? That's got to be awkward."

"She's practically furniture," the first one said dismissively. "He was never going to marry her. She's just... there. Waiting."

Jocelyn gripped her mug. The ceramic bit into her palm. Furniture.

She turned to leave, needing to get out before she screamed. But the machine sputters. It hissed violently, spitting a jet of scalding steam and hot water sideways.

"Ah!" Jocelyn gasped, dropping the mug.

The hot liquid splashed over her hand. The pain was instant and searing.

The mug shattered on the floor.

The two analysts jumped, spinning around. Their faces went pale when they saw her.

"Ms. Wolfe! We didn't..."

Jocelyn ignored them. She rushed to the sink, shoving her hand under the cold tap. The skin was already turning an angry, blistering red.

Mandy, the receptionist and the only person in this building Jocelyn tolerated, rushed in. "Jocelyn! Oh my god, I heard the crash."

Mandy saw the hand and hissed in sympathy. She grabbed paper towels, wetting them. "You need to go to urgent care. That looks like a second-degree burn."

"I'm fine," Jocelyn said through gritted teeth. The water helped, but the throbbing was deep. "I need to give you something."

She pulled a crisp white envelope from her blazer pocket with her good hand.

"Give this to HR. Today."

Mandy took it. She recognized the weight of the paper. "You're quitting? Before the Gala? Kieran will flip."

"Especially before the Gala," Jocelyn said.

"Where is Jocelyn?" Kieran's voice boomed from the hallway.

Jocelyn froze. The sound of his voice triggered a physical recoil in her gut. She wasn't ready. Not yet.

She ducked into the emergency stairwell just as Kieran strode past the breakroom door.

Through the crack in the door, she saw him. He looked immaculate. Tanned, rested, wearing a suit that cost five thousand dollars. He didn't look like a man who had just destroyed someone's life.

"I... I haven't seen her, sir," she heard an intern stammer.

"Tell her to bring the merger files to the Gala tonight," Kieran barked, not breaking stride. "Personally. I don't want a courier losing them."

Jocelyn leaned back against the cold concrete wall of the stairwell. She closed her eyes.

He wanted her to deliver the files to the party where he was debuting his new fiancée. It was a power move. A final humiliation.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

It was a text from 'Gaston'.

Gaston: Dinner tonight? I know a place that isn't on the radar.

Jocelyn looked at the screen. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to hide in a dark booth with the mysterious man who signed contracts without reading them.

But she had to finish this.

Jocelyn: Busy. Work emergency.

She didn't want him to know she was still running errands for her ex. It was pathetic.

She looked at her hand. A large blister was forming across her knuckles. It throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

She pushed off the wall. She would go to the Gala. She would give him the files. And then she would never see him again.