Sunlight hit Dianna's eyelids like a physical blow. She woke up on the floor of the walk-in closet, her cheek pressed against the rough carpet. Her neck was stiff, and her eyes felt swollen and gritty.

She heard movement in the bedroom.

Dianna stood up, smoothing the wrinkles in her dress-she hadn't changed. She walked out.

Hunt was standing in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting his cufflinks. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit, tailored to perfection. He looked like the king of Wall Street. He looked like nothing happened.

He saw her reflection in the mirror. His eyes narrowed slightly, then he looked away.

"There's a card on the dresser," he said, his voice flat. "Buy yourself something. Just... stop looking like a victim."

Dianna looked at the black Amex Centurion card sitting on the mahogany surface. It was heavy, made of titanium. It was his apology. It was his leash.

"Are you coming home tonight?" she asked. Her voice was raspy.

Hunt laughed, a short, humorless sound. "I have important guests coming to town. Try to be invisible, Dianna. Don't embarrass me."

He walked out. He didn't say goodbye.

Dianna waited until she heard the front door close and the engine of his Maybach fade into the distance. She walked over to the dresser and picked up her iPad.

The screen lit up with a breaking news alert.

"The Angel Returns! Chasity Hughes spotted at JFK after four years of recovery abroad. Is the Brennan family finally whole?"

The photo showed a delicate woman in a wheelchair, waving to paparazzi. In the background, blurry but unmistakable, was Jeffrey Banks-Hunt's personal assistant.

Dianna felt bile rise in her throat. That's why he was so angry last night. That's why he wanted her invisible. His real love was back.

The landline on the nightstand rang. Dianna stared at it. She knew who it was. She picked it up.

"Dianna," the voice of Eleanor Brennan, Hunt's mother, clipped across the line. "I assume you've seen the news."

"I have."

"Good. We need the master suite. Chasity needs the southern exposure for her recovery. Move your things to the guest wing by tonight."

Dianna gripped the phone. "This is my room, Eleanor."

"It is Hunt's room," Eleanor corrected sharply. "You are just a guest who overstayed her welcome. Do it, or I will have the staff do it for you."

The line went dead.

Dianna put the phone down. She looked around the room. She had chosen the curtains. She had picked the paint color. She had tried to make this a home.

She walked to the wall safe hidden behind a painting. Her fingers punched in the code-her birthday. Hunt probably didn't even know it was the combination.

Inside, underneath a stack of cash, was a copy of the Prenuptial Agreement.

She flipped to page forty. Dissolution of Marriage.

Clause 7: The Wife shall receive no alimony, no property, and no assets if she initiates divorce, unless in cases of proven infidelity or abuse.

She didn't want his money. She wanted her life back.

She pulled a burner phone from the bottom of the safe-a precaution she had taken years ago. She dialed a number she hadn't called in three years.

"Mr. Sterling," she said when the line connected.

"Miss Campbell?" The lawyer's voice was shocked. "Is everything alright? Your grandfather has been-"

"Draft the divorce papers," Dianna interrupted. "I want out. Total waiver of assets. I don't want a dime. I just want it signed. Today."

"But Miss Campbell, your trust-"

"Do it."

She hung up.

Dianna walked back to the dresser. She picked up the black card Hunt had left. She opened the drawer, took out a pair of scissors, and cut the titanium card in half. It took effort. It hurt her fingers.

She placed the two halves on the polished wood.

Then, she reached for her left hand. The diamond ring was heavy, a five-carat stone that felt like a shackle. She slid it off. Her finger felt strangely light, naked.

She placed the ring on top of the cut card. Clink.

Mary walked in with a basket of laundry. She stopped dead when she saw the suitcase on the bed.

"Ma'am? Are you... going on a trip?"

Dianna zipped the suitcase shut. "No, Mary. I'm going to a place where I don't have to act anymore."

Mary looked at the ring on the dresser, then back at Dianna. Her eyes softened with pity. "Do you need help with the bag?"

"No." Dianna put on her sunglasses to hide her red-rimmed eyes. "I've got it."

She grabbed the handle and walked out of the room. She forced herself not to look back at the gilded cage that had held her for three years, but as she stepped out the front door, her gaze involuntarily drifted up to the second-floor study window, Hunt's sanctuary.

"Goodbye, Hunt," she whispered.

She opened the door and stepped out into the world.

The sky over Long Island had turned a bruised purple by the time Hunt returned. He was early-rare for him. He wanted to make sure Dianna understood the rules for the upcoming week with Chasity back in town.

He pushed open the front door. "Dianna?"

Silence.

Usually, she would be in the foyer, waiting to take his coat, desperate for a crumb of affection. Today, the house felt tomb-like.

"Sir." The butler, Thomas, appeared from the hallway. He looked uncomfortable.

"Where is she?" Hunt demanded, stripping off his gloves.

"Mrs. Brennan... she left this afternoon, sir."

Hunt paused. A scoff escaped his lips. "Left? To the spa? Shopping?"

"She took a suitcase, sir."

Hunt's jaw tightened. "Another tantrum," he muttered. "She's trying to leverage more money."

He took the stairs two at a time, fueled by irritation. He shoved open the door to the master bedroom.

"Dianna, come out. I don't have time for games."

The room was pristine. Too pristine.

He walked to the dresser. The light from the lamp caught the sparkle of the diamond ring. It sat there, abandoned, on top of the severed pieces of the Centurion card.

Hunt stared at it. His heart did a strange, painful flip in his chest. A physiological reaction he didn't authorize.

He picked up the ring. It was cold. He squeezed it in his fist until the edges dug into his palm.

"You think this scares me?" he whispered to the empty room.

He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

The subscriber you have dialed is currently switched off.

He threw the phone onto the bed. "Fine. Starve out there. You'll be back when the credit cards decline."

Outside, the sky opened up. Rain lashed against the windows, a sudden summer storm.

Dianna wasn't far. She was standing at the end of the mile-long driveway, soaked to the bone. Her Uber had canceled on her, and her phone battery had died ten minutes ago.

She shivered, her wet clothes clinging to her skin like a second, freezing skin.

Headlights cut through the darkness. A black SUV was coming down the driveway, leaving the estate. It was Hunt. He was going back to the city, probably to see Chasity.

Dianna stepped onto the grass, not wanting to block him, but hoping he would stop.

The car slowed. The window rolled down.

Hunt's face appeared. He looked dry, warm, and angry. He looked at her wet hair, her shivering form, and he didn't see a woman in distress. He saw a manipulator playing a scene.

"Get in," he barked. "If you think standing in the rain is going to make me feel guilty, you're delusional."

Dianna wiped water from her eyes. She couldn't see him clearly through the downpour.

"I'm not playing!" she shouted over the thunder. "Hunt, I signed the papers! Just let me go!"

The wind swallowed her words. Hunt only heard the noise.

"I said get in the car, Dianna!"

She shook her head, stepping back. "No! I'm leaving!"

Hunt's patience snapped. He hit the button. The window rolled up, sealing him back in his silent, temperature-controlled world.

"Drive," he told the driver. "She needs to learn a lesson."

The car accelerated. Mud water splashed up, coating Dianna's legs. She watched the taillights disappear around the bend.

She didn't cry. She started to laugh. It was a broken, jagged sound.

A pair of headlights approached from the opposite direction. A beat-up Volvo. Her new ride share.

The car stopped. The driver, an older man, rolled down the window. "Miss? You okay?"

Dianna opened the door and threw her suitcase in. She climbed into the back seat, dripping water onto the upholstery.

"Where to?" the driver asked, handing her a box of tissues.

Dianna wiped her face. Her expression hardened. The sadness was evaporating, replaced by a cold resolve.

"The Brennan Tower," she said. "Midtown."

She reached into her waterproof bag and pulled out the manila envelope. The edges were damp, but the contents were dry.

"I have a delivery to make."

The lobby of Brennan Tower was a cathedral of glass and steel. Dianna walked in the next morning wearing a black trench coat and dark sunglasses. She felt nauseous, her stomach rolling with every step, but she kept her back straight.

The receptionist, a woman who had sneered at Dianna for three years, looked up.

"Mrs. Brennan? Do you have an appointment? Mr. Brennan is in a meeting."

Dianna didn't stop. She lowered her sunglasses, her eyes dark and flat. "Move."

The receptionist blinked, stunned by the sudden authority in Dianna's voice. She sat back down.

Dianna took the private elevator to the top floor. The doors opened, and she almost collided with Jeffrey Banks. He was holding a stack of files, looking harried.

"Mrs. Brennan?" Jeffrey's eyes widened. "Hunt is-"

Dianna slapped the manila envelope against Jeffrey's chest. He fumbled to catch it.

"Give this to him," she said. Her voice was steady, devoid of emotion. "Tell him I'm granting his wish."

"What is this?"

"Freedom," Dianna said. She turned around and pressed the elevator button.

"Wait, Mrs. Brennan-"

The doors slid shut, cutting him off. Dianna leaned her forehead against the cool metal of the elevator wall. She let out a long, shaky breath.

Jeffrey walked into the office. Hunt was standing by the window, looking out at the city, a glass of water in his hand.

"What was that?" Hunt asked without turning.

"Mrs. Brennan was here. She left this." Jeffrey placed the envelope on the desk.

Hunt turned. He saw the thick envelope. He walked over, ripped it open, and slid the contents out.

DIVORCE SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT

He scanned the pages. Asset division: None. Alimony: Waived.

And there, on the last page, was her signature. Elegant. Firm. Dianna Campbell.

Hunt felt a surge of irrational anger. She wasn't asking for money. She was asking to be erased. It felt like a slap in the face. It felt like she was winning.

"She thinks she can just walk away?" Hunt growled. He threw the papers onto the desk. "It's a bluff. She wants me to chase her."

Down on the street, Dianna walked out of the building. The smell of a hot dog vendor hit her, and her stomach lurched violently.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and ran to the nearest public restroom in a Starbucks. She barely made it to the stall before she retched.

She stayed there for ten minutes, her forehead resting on her arm. This wasn't just stress. She knew this feeling.

She walked to the CVS across the street. Her hands shook as she paid for the box.

Back in the bathroom stall, time seemed to stretch and warp. Dianna sat on the toilet lid, staring at the three white sticks lined up on the toilet paper dispenser.

Two pink lines.

Two pink lines.

Two pink lines.

The world tilted. She was pregnant.

She pressed her hand to her flat stomach. A baby. Hunt's baby.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was Hunt.

She stared at the name flashing on the screen. If she answered, if she told him... no. He would think it was a trap. Or worse, he would take the baby and lock her out. He would use the child as a pawn.

She pressed the 'Block' button.

Tears streamed down her face, but she didn't sob. She wiped them away aggressively.

"You're mine," she whispered to her stomach. "Just mine."

She pulled out the burner phone and dialed a number she had memorized but never used.

"Grandfather?" she said when the line clicked open.

Arthur Campbell, the patriarch of the Campbell medical dynasty, answered. His voice was gravel and steel. "Dianna? You're finally calling."

"I need help," she said, her voice breaking. "I need to disappear. Completely."

"Done," Arthur said. "Where are you?"

"New York. But I can't be Dianna Brennan anymore."

"From today," Arthur said, "You are Dr. Campbell. Come home."