Sunlight sliced through the gap in the curtains, hitting Carma directly in the eyes. She hadn't slept. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching the dust motes dance in the beam of light. The anger from last night had settled into a cold, hard resolve in her chest.

She stood up and walked into the closet. The racks were filled with designer dresses. Silk, chiffon, sequins. All hand-picked by Mildred's stylist. All designed to make Carma look like a prop. She pushed them aside, the hangers screeching against the metal rod.

In the back corner, shoved behind a stack of hatboxes, was her old duffel bag. She pulled it out and unzipped it. Inside were the clothes she had arrived in three years ago. A pair of faded Levi's. A few cotton t-shirts. A worn denim jacket. They smelled like dust and freedom.

She stripped off the silk pajamas Kendall had bought her and pulled on the jeans. They were a little loose, but they felt like armor.

She grabbed two suitcases from the top shelf. She didn't pack the designer clothes. She didn't pack the jewelry Kendall had given her. She packed her laptop. The stack of sketchbooks she kept hidden under the bed. The drawing tablet was too bulky to carry with two suitcases, so she left it behind, promising herself she'd send for it later.

And from the nightstand, she picked up the small, velvet box that had belonged to her mother. The wood was worn smooth, the hinges rusty. It was the only thing of value she owned.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Mrs. Kirby?" Rosa Gutierrez, the housekeeper, peeked her head in. Her eyes went wide at the sight of the suitcases. "Are you... are you leaving?"

"Rosa." Carma gave the older woman a tired smile. "Yes. I'm leaving. And please, call me Carma. I won't be Mrs. Kirby much longer."

Rosa stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "I heard the yelling last night. I am so sorry."

"Don't be. It's been a long time coming." Carma zipped up the suitcase. "You've been kind to me, Rosa. Kinder than anyone else in this house."

Rosa reached out and squeezed her hand. "You deserve better than them, mija."

Carma picked up the handles of the suitcases. "I know."

She walked down the stairs. The house was quiet. Too quiet. When she reached the living room, she saw why. Kendall and Mildred were sitting at the dining table, eating breakfast. The torn pieces of the divorce agreement were still scattered on the rug.

Mildred looked up, her fork hovering over her eggs. "What is this? A dramatic exit? Very tacky, Carma."

Carma ignored her. She walked straight to Kendall. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a key ring. She set it down on the table next to his coffee cup.

"The house key. The alarm code. The keys to the Porsche in the garage. I don't want any of it."

Kendall frowned, his jaw tight. "Carma, stop being ridiculous. Put your bags away. My lawyer is coming over at noon."

"Your lawyer can talk to my lawyer." Carma pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She dialed the number she had looked up an hour ago.

She put the phone on speaker. It rang twice.

"Camille Vasquez Associates, how can I help you?"

"My name is Carma Kirby," she said, her voice clear and steady. "I need to hire a divorce attorney. The best you have. My maiden name is Carma Forbes."

"This is Camille. I'll take the case." The voice on the other end was sharp, confident, and utterly ruthless.

Mildred choked on her orange juice. Kendall went pale. Everyone in Los Angeles knew Camille Vasquez. She ate men like Kendall for breakfast.

"How are you paying for her?" Mildred sputtered, her face red. "You don't have a dime!"

"That's not your concern," Carma said. She ended the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket. "But since we're talking about money, I've done the math. Three years of managing your household. Cooking your meals. Handling your fan mail. Managing your schedule. That's called labor, and in California, labor isn't free."

Kendall stood up, his chair scraping the floor. "You're threatening me?"

"I'm stating facts." Carma met his glare without flinching. "California is a community property state, Kendall. Half of everything you earned during our marriage is mine. Your Oscar campaign? I organized the screenings. Your endorsement deals? I read the contracts. So when my lawyer starts digging, I'm sure we'll find plenty to talk about."

Kendall looked like he had been slapped. He had expected tears. He had expected begging. He had not expected the quiet girl from Ohio to know the law.

Carma turned and walked toward the front door. Rosa was already there, holding the door open. The housekeeper pressed a thick envelope into Carma's hand. "For the taxi."

Carma tried to push it back, but Rosa shook her head firmly. "Take it."

Carma nodded and stepped outside. The morning air was cool. A yellow cab was already waiting at the curb.

She threw her suitcases into the trunk and slid into the back seat. As the car pulled away, she looked back at the mansion. It looked smaller already.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Emily.

"Hey, babe," Emily answered, her voice groggy. "What's up?"

"Emily." Carma's voice cracked, the adrenaline finally fading. "Can I stay with you for a while? I left him."

"What?" Emily was instantly awake. "Yes! Get over here right now! Are you okay?"

"I will be," Carma said, watching the palm trees blur past the window. "I'm on my way."

Emily Mays had never cared about looking put together. Emily's apartment in Silver Lake was a mess. Canvases were stacked against the walls, paint tubes littered every surface, and the couch was covered in fabric swatches. It was chaotic, loud, and utterly alive. It was the exact opposite of the Kirby mausoleum.

Emily pulled Carma inside and wrapped her in a hug so tight it squeezed the remaining tension out of her shoulders.

"Welcome to the revolution," Emily said, pulling back to look at her. "You look like hell."

"Thanks." Carma dropped her bags by the door. "I feel like it."

"Sit." Emily pointed to the only clear spot on the sofa. She went into the tiny kitchen and came back with a chipped mug filled with hot cocoa. Marshmallows bobbed on the surface. "Drink. It's magic."

Carma wrapped her hands around the warm mug. The sweetness hit her tongue, and for a second, the tightness in her chest loosened. She took a deep breath.

The phone on the coffee table vibrated. The screen lit up with the name "Mildred Kirby."

Emily reached for it. "I'll hang up on the old bat."

"No." Carma put down her mug. "Let her talk." She picked up the phone and hit the speaker button.

"Carma Forbes!" Mildred's voice was a shrill scream. "You ungrateful little witch! You think hiring some fancy lawyer scares us? Come back here this instant and sign the papers!"

"Hello, Mildred," Carma said, her voice calm. "My lawyer has already instructed me to direct all communication through her office. This is the last time we will speak directly."

"Communication? Who do you think you are?" Mildred sputtered. "You want half of Kendall's money? You don't deserve a cent! You're nothing but a glorified maid!"

"Goodbye, Mildred." Carma hit the end call button. She tapped the screen, blocking the number. The silence that followed was deafening.

Emily burst out laughing. "Oh my god. That was beautiful. You blocked the dragon."

Before Carma could smile, the phone rang again. This time the screen showed "Tinsley Kirby." Kendall's younger sister.

Carma answered on speaker. "What do you want, Tinsley?"

"Carma? Where are you?" Tinsley's voice was whiny and demanding. "I have my debutante party next week. My dress needs altering, and you haven't picked up the dry cleaning. Get back here and do your job!"

Carma stared at the phone in disbelief. "Tinsley, do you really think I'm still going to run your errands?"

"Uh, yes? You're my brother's wife. That's your job. Now stop being a brat and come home."

"My job is over," Carma said. "And soon, I won't be your brother's wife at all. Find another maid."

She hung up and blocked the number. A strange, giddy feeling bubbled up in her chest.

Emily clapped her hands. "Yes! Burn it down! Who's next?"

The phone rang a third time. "Kendall."

The giddy feeling vanished. Carma stared at the name. She hesitated, then swiped to answer.

"Carma." Kendall's voice was low, controlled anger. "What game are you playing? You're embarrassing yourself."

"I'm not the one who should be embarrassed, Kendall."

"Stop this." His tone shifted, trying to sound reasonable. "We had three years together. Are you really going to ruin it over money? Is that all I meant to you?"

Carma let out a bitter laugh. "You offered me a quarter of a million dollars to disappear. You tell me what the marriage meant to you."

Silence. Then, the threat. "Don't push me, Carma. My PR team can destroy you. One phone call and you'll be the most hated woman in America."

Carma's spine stiffened. "Do it. Let's see how the public likes the story of an Oscar winner who hides his wife for three years and then tries to buy her off on their anniversary. I'm sure the academy will love that."

The line went dead. Kendall had hung up.

Carma stared at the screen. She didn't hesitate. She blocked his number. Then she went through her contacts. She deleted his family, his agent, his publicist. Every number tied to the Kirby name vanished from her phone.

She set the phone down on the table. The screen was blank. No more calls. No more demands.

"Clean slate," she whispered.

Emily handed her the mug of cocoa again. "To freedom."

Carma took a long sip. It tasted like victory.

The high from blocking the Kirby family faded quickly. By the time the sun set over the Silver Lake hills, Carma felt like a wrung-out dishrag. She sat on the couch, staring at a blank spot on the wall, while Emily heated up leftover pizza.

Her phone buzzed. A local number she didn't recognize.

She answered it, expecting a telemarketer. "Hello?"

Earlier that evening, Marcus had called Kendall with a strange piece of news: the anonymous number that had canceled the Xen deal traced back to a burner phone that had been in the same cell tower as the Kirby mansion.

Marcus didn't know who—but someone inside Kendall's own house had killed the deal. Kendall immediately thought of Carma. She had access, she had motive, and she had just torn up his settlement papers. He didn't know how she had done it, but he was certain she was behind it.

"Carma." Kendall's voice was a low growl. "You blocked me."

"I blocked your number," Carma said, her body tensing. "I didn't agree to never speak to you again."

"Listen to me—” He sounded furious. “You did something to the Xen deal. You got wind of it and you poisoned it, didn't you? That was a low blow, Carma."

Carma's blood ran cold. He had no idea she was Xen. He just thought she had somehow gotten wind of the deal and used her connections to ruin it out of spite. The thought was both terrifying and darkly satisfying.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Kendall," she said, her voice a perfect mask of confusion. "Maybe your business partners just realized who they were dealing with."

"Carma, it's not what you think," Kendall said quickly, panic edging into his voice. "This is business. Don't make it personal."

"You made it personal on our anniversary," Carma said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Go back to your business, Kendall." She ended the call and blocked the new number. She dropped the phone like it was on fire.

Emily came out of the kitchen, holding a pizza box. She took one look at Carma's face and dropped the box on the table. "What? What did he do?"

"He's scrambling," Carma whispered. "The deal for my graphic novel fell through. He thinks I sabotaged him."

"Good," Emily said, her face flushing red. "Let him think that. Let him squirm. I'm going to drive to his house and cut the brakes on his Porsche."

"Don't." Carma wrapped her arms around herself. "I just want to sleep. I want to turn my brain off for a few hours."

Before Emily could respond, Carma's laptop chimed from the coffee table. A video call request from "Babette Meyer."

Carma hesitated. Babette was someone Carma had met at a charity gala two years ago—back when Carma was still trying to play the part of a supportive wife. Babette had never been told about the marriage; she had pieced it together from tabloid whispers and Kendall's evasive schedule.

Carma had never confirmed anything, but tonight she was too tired to keep up the lie.Carma needed a friendly face.

She hit accept.

Babette's face filled the screen. She was wearing a silk robe, her makeup flawless even at home. "Carma, honey! Emily just texted me. Oh my god, are you okay? I'm getting on the next flight out."

Carma forced a smile. "I'm surviving. I left him."

"You left him? Good!" Babette's voice was fierce, her eyes flashing with genuine-looking anger. "That son of a bitch. I'm going to ruin him. I'll call my father's lawyers. We will bury him, Carma. You won't have to lift a finger."

Carma hesitated. She knew Babette’s father was a New York power broker—but she also knew Babette hadn’t spoken to him in six months. “I appreciate it, Babette. Really. But I’ve already hired my own lawyer. Camille Vasquez.”

Babette’s eyes widened. “Camille? How can you—never mind. That’s even better. But my offer stands. If you need the big guns, you know where to find me.”

Emily, sitting out of the camera's view, nodded in approval at the screen.

"I'm sure," Carma said. "He wants a divorce. He made that very clear."

"I know, I know," Babette said, waving a manicured hand dismissively. "Let him want it. We're going to make him pay for it. He thinks he can just throw you away? No. You are brilliant and strong and you deserve the world. Don't you dare let him make you feel small. You hear me?"

"I hear you," Carma repeated, the words a balm on her raw nerves.

"Good," Babette said, her voice softening. "Listen, I have to run to an early meeting, but I'm booking a ticket for this afternoon. I'll be there by tonight. We'll order takeout, we'll drink wine, and we'll plot his demise. Don't sign anything. Don't talk to him. Just wait for me. Okay?"

A smart girl. A strong girl. The opposite of what Kendall had called her.

Carma felt a wave of relief. The one person she thought would understand, did. More than understood, she was ready for war. "Okay, Babette. I'll see you tonight."

"I'll be there, sweetie. Stay strong."

Carma closed the laptop lid. The silence in the room was heavy.

Emily stood up. "Okay, I like her. She's got the right attitude."

"She's the best," Carma muttered, the words feeling true. She felt a little less alone. The world was still closing in, but now she had an army at her back.

"I'm going to bed," Carma said, her voice flat. "I can't think anymore."

She walked into the guest room and shut the door. She leaned against it, her chest heaving. She needed an escape. Just for a few hours.

She opened her duffel bag—the same one she had arrived with, though she had added a few things over the years. Near the bottom, her fingers brushed against an orange prescription bottle.

The label was faded. Her doctor had given her Ambien a year ago, after a stretch of sleepless nights. She had taken it once without any problem. Tonight, she didn't care about risks.

She twisted the cap off and shook a single pill into her palm. She dry-swallowed it, then crawled under the covers.

She closed her eyes, waiting for the fog of sleep to pull her under. Instead, a strange heat began to spread through her veins. Her skin started to itch. Then burn.

She gasped, her eyes snapping open. The room was blurring. Her throat was swelling shut. She tried to call out for Emily, but no sound came.

This wasn't sleep. This was something else entirely.