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.

Emily glanced at the clock on the microwave. It had been two hours since Carma went to bed. The apartment was too quiet. Carma usually tossed and turned, the floorboards creaking. Tonight, nothing.

A knot formed in Emily's stomach. She walked down the narrow hallway and stopped outside the guest room door. She knocked softly.

"Carma? You asleep?"

No answer.

Emily knocked louder. "Carma? I'm coming in."

She turned the knob. The room was dark, the curtains drawn. Emily flipped the light switch.

Carma was lying on the bed, her body twisted in the sheets. Her face was swollen, covered in angry red hives. Her lips were a terrifying shade of blue. Her chest was heaving, a rattling sound coming from her throat.

"Carma!" Emily screamed. She rushed to the bed, grabbing her friend's shoulders. Carma's eyes were open but unfocused, rolling back in her head.

Emily's eyes darted to the nightstand. The open bottle of Ambien lay on its side, a single white pill resting on the wood beside it. Only one was missing.

Suicide. She was trying to kill herself.

Emily's hands shook so badly she almost dropped her phone. She dialed 911, her voice a ragged shriek. "Help! My friend took some pills—I don't know how many—but she's not breathing!4321 Sunset Boulevard, apartment 2B! Hurry!"

The next fifteen minutes were a blur of sirens and flashing lights. The paramedics burst through the door, lifting Carma onto a stretcher. Emily rode in the back of the ambulance, clutching Carma's limp hand, tears streaming down her face.

The Cedars-Sinai Emergency Room was a chaos of beeping machines and rushing nurses. Carma was wheeled into a trauma bay, the curtains pulled shut around her.

Emily stood outside, her face pressed against the fabric, watching as doctors and nurses swarmed her friend.

"BP is dropping! Sixty over forty!"

"Intubation tray!"

"Push point-five epi!"

A tall man in blue scrubs stepped into the bay. He had dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and cold blue eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He moved with a precise, robotic efficiency, barking orders that the nurses scrambled to obey.

"Get the charcoal ready," the doctor said, his voice devoid of emotion. "And call the psych ward. We have another overdose."

Emily flinched. She pushed through the curtain. "She didn't overdose! It was an accident!"

The doctor turned his cold gaze on her. "Ma'am, you need to step back."

"But she only took one! I think she's having a reaction—an allergy or something!" Emily sobbed. "It's because of her husband! He's leaving her! She wasn't trying to die!"

The doctor-Arvel Hurst, according to his badge-stared at her. His jaw tightened. He looked back at the swollen, blue-lipped woman on the gurney. Another broken heart. Another waste of his time.

"Ma'am, I need you to wait outside," he said, his voice clipped. "Now."

Emily was escorted out by a nurse. She slumped into a plastic chair in the waiting room, burying her face in her hands.

Inside the trauma bay, Arvel worked methodically. He inserted the breathing tube, pumped the woman's stomach, and administered the antidote. It was textbook. It was routine. It was utterly exhausting.

He looked down at the woman's face as the color slowly returned to her cheeks. She was young. Too young to throw her life away over a man.

"Stupid," he muttered under his breath. He pulled off his gloves with a snap and walked out to update the chart.

An hour later, Carma opened her eyes. The world was a blur of white ceiling tiles and harsh fluorescent lights. A tube was jammed down her throat. Her body ached like she had been hit by a truck.

She gagged, and a nurse rushed over, gently removing the breathing tube. Carma coughed, her throat burning.

Emily was at her side in an instant, grabbing her hand. "Oh my god, Carma. You're awake. You scared me to death."

"What... what happened?" Carma croaked, her voice a rasp.

"You had an allergic reaction to the Ambien," Emily said, her eyes red and puffy. "Your throat closed up. I thought... I thought you were..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't mention the pills on the nightstand or what she had told the 911 operator.

Carma lay back against the pillow, her head pounding. She had almost died. Over a sleeping pill. The irony was too bitter to swallow.

The curtain parted, and Dr. Arvel Hurst walked in. He didn't look at her face; he looked at the monitors, checking the numbers. He held a tablet in his hand, tapping the screen with a stylus.

"Miss Forbes," he said, his voice flat. "You're awake."

"Yes," Carma whispered, her throat raw.

Arvel didn't look up. "You're lucky your friend found you when she did. Another ten minutes and you would have been brain dead."

Carma stared at his profile. He was handsome, in a severe kind of way, but his demeanor was arctic. "Thank you for saving me."

Arvel finally looked at her. His blue eyes were hard, devoid of any warmth. "Don't thank me. Thank the paramedics. I just did my job." He tapped the tablet again. "Your friend said you were under significant personal distress. Anaphylactic shock isn't a joke. Next time you're dealing with emotional turmoil, I'd suggest calling a therapist, not reaching for medication you're unfamiliar with. This ER is for people with acute medical emergencies, not for those who are careless with their health."

Carma blinked, the words stinging with their cold, clinical judgment. "What? I didn't-"

"Save it," Arvel cut her off, his lip curling slightly. "The 'my husband doesn't love me' routine is old. You're wasting resources that could be used on patients who are actually fighting to live. Don't do it again."

He turned on his heel and walked out, the curtain swishing shut behind him.

Carma stared at the empty space, too stunned to speak. He thought she was careless. He thought she was pathetic.

Emily squeezed her hand, her face pale. "Carma, I'm so sorry. I told them you took pills because of Kendall... I didn't know it would be that bad. I made a mistake."

Carma didn't respond. She just stared at the ceiling, the humiliation burning hotter than the hives on her skin.