Audrey sat in the driver's seat of her ten-year-old Volvo. The engine hummed loudly, struggling against the freezing temperature.

Lukewarm air blew from the vents, hitting her frozen face, but she couldn't stop shivering. Her hands gripped the worn leather steering wheel. She squeezed it so hard her joints ached.

She shifted the car into drive and pulled out of the cemetery parking lot.

The tires hit the highway. Tiny, sharp flakes of snow began to fall, hitting the windshield like grains of sand. The wipers squeaked as they dragged across the glass.

Her mind dragged her back to a memory she had spent three years trying to bury.

The lawyer's office in Manhattan. The smell of expensive leather and lemon polish. The heavy, fifty-page document sitting on the mahogany desk.

Colton had sat across from her, his face completely unreadable. He had pushed the thick stack of papers toward her with a single finger.

The prenuptial agreement.

It was a brutal, airtight contract. It stated clearly that in the event of a divorce, Audrey would have zero claim to the Christian family trust, zero claim to his corporate shares, and zero right to any property acquired during the marriage. She would leave with exactly what she brought in: nothing.

She had picked up the pen and signed her name on every single page. She had done it because she loved him. She had believed they were building a life, not a business transaction.

A blaring car horn shattered the memory.

Audrey flinched. Her foot slammed down on the brake pedal. The Volvo jerked forward, the seatbelt biting violently into her collarbone.

She was back in Manhattan. The car was stopped at a red light on Fifth Avenue.

Audrey rubbed her temples. A dull, throbbing headache was starting to pulse behind her eyes. She turned her head, looking out the passenger side window to distract herself from the pain.

Across the busy street, a large, striped awning stretched over the sidewalk. It was a high-end French bakery.

A man was standing under the awning.

Audrey's breath caught in her throat. She pressed her finger against the window switch. The glass rolled down, letting the freezing, snowy air rush into the warm cabin.

She squinted through the falling snow.

It was Colton.

He was wearing his signature dark gray cashmere overcoat. He wasn't at a kindergarten dealing with a screaming child. He wasn't in a boardroom.

He was standing on the sidewalk, holding two delicate pink cake boxes by their string loops.

The glass door of the bakery swung open. A little girl in a prestigious private school uniform ran out onto the sidewalk.

Willow.

Audrey's heart leaped. She opened her mouth to call out her daughter's name, but the sound died in her throat.

Willow didn't run to Colton. She ran straight past him and threw her arms around the legs of a woman walking out of the bakery right behind her.

The woman was wearing a beige cashmere coat. Her long, dark hair fell perfectly over her shoulders. She looked down at Willow and smiled. It was a soft, gentle smile.

Audrey's stomach dropped so fast she felt physically sick. The air was sucked out of her lungs.

Colton stepped closer to the woman. He shifted the pink boxes into his left hand. With his right hand, he reached out and naturally, effortlessly, wrapped his arm around the woman's waist.

The woman turned her head and said something to him. Colton looked down at her.

His face softened. The harsh, cold lines of his jaw relaxed. He smiled.

It was a genuine, warm smile. A smile Audrey hadn't seen directed at her in three years.

Willow grabbed the woman's hand. The three of them turned and began walking down the sidewalk, moving together in perfect harmony toward Colton's silver Aston Martin parked at the curb.

Audrey's hands began to shake violently. She reached over to the passenger seat, her fingers fumbling blindly for her phone. She needed a picture. She needed proof that she wasn't losing her mind.

Her numb fingers brushed the smooth metal of the phone, but her hands were shaking so violently she couldn't secure a grip. The device slipped, clattering against the leather passenger seat. "No," Audrey gasped, her breath hitching in her throat. She frantically clawed at the seat, her fingernails scraping the leather until she finally managed to snatch it up. She yanked the device to eye level, her thumb desperately swiping to unlock the screen and open the camera app.

She looked out the window.

The sidewalk was empty. The silver Aston Martin was already pulling away from the curb, its taillights glowing bright red as it merged into the heavy Manhattan traffic.

The cars behind Audrey began to honk furiously. The light had turned green.

Audrey sat frozen for three seconds. The shock in her chest morphed, twisting and hardening into a hot, blinding rage. The blood roared in her ears.

She dropped the phone into her lap, gripped the steering wheel with both hands, and slammed her foot on the gas.

The Volvo lurched forward. She yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, cutting off a yellow taxi. The taxi driver slammed on his brakes and laid on the horn, but Audrey didn't care.

She kept her eyes locked on the silver Aston Martin two car lengths ahead.

The silver Aston Martin slowed down and turned right, disappearing down a ramp into the underground parking garage of The Sovereign, one of the most exclusive luxury apartment buildings on the Upper East Side.

Audrey hit the brakes. Her old Volvo idled on the street. She didn't have a resident keycard to access the underground garage.

She threw the car into drive, sped down to the next block, and jerked the wheel, pulling into an open-air pay lot. She didn't bother grabbing a ticket. She shoved the gearshift into park, killed the engine, and practically threw herself out of the car.

The snow was falling harder now, sticking to the pavement. Audrey walked fast, her heels clicking sharply against the wet concrete. She crossed the street, ignoring the crosswalk, her eyes fixed on the towering glass and stone structure of Building D.

She reached the heavy brass-and-glass double doors of the main entrance. Through the glass, she saw the private elevator doors sliding shut. Colton, the woman, and Willow were already inside.

Audrey pushed through the heavy doors.

The lobby was silent, smelling of expensive oud wood and burning logs from the massive stone fireplace.

A man in a crisp, dark uniform stepped out from behind the marble concierge desk. He moved quickly, placing himself directly in Audrey's path. His expression was polite but entirely unyielding.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the concierge said. "Do you have an appointment? This is a private residential building."

Audrey stopped. Her chest was heaving. She forced herself to take a deep breath, pushing the panic down into her stomach.

"I am here for Colton Christian," Audrey said. Her voice was flat, cold, and demanding.

The concierge's eyes flicked over her damp coat and wind-blown hair. He picked up a tablet from the desk and tapped the screen.

"Mr. Christian is a primary resident here," the concierge said slowly. "But he hasn't authorized any guests for today."

Primary resident.

The words hit Audrey like a physical blow to the chest. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke. He lived here. He had a second home.

Audrey lifted her chin. She channeled every ounce of the cold, corporate arrogance she had seen Colton use a thousand times.

"I am his wife, Mrs. Christian," Audrey stated, her voice laced with the sharp, defensive arrogance of a wealthy spouse pushed to her absolute limit. "We had an urgent agreement to meet here, but his phone is turned off. This is a severe family emergency."

The concierge hesitated. His finger hovered over the phone on his desk. He knew Colton Christian's reputation. The man was a ruthless workaholic who fired people for breathing too loudly.

"Are you seriously questioning me right now?" Audrey demanded, stepping closer to the marble desk, her eyes blazing with a desperate, aristocratic fury she didn't know she possessed. "Do you have any idea what the consequences will be if you delay Colton Christian during a family crisis?"

The concierge set the tablet down.

"Of course. My apologies," he said. He stepped over to the guest elevator and swiped a master keycard against the panel. "He is in suite 507. Fifth floor."

"Thank you," Audrey said, stepping into the wood-paneled elevator.

The doors slid shut. The elevator began to rise.

Audrey stared at the digital numbers above the door. Two. Three. Four. Her heart was beating so violently it felt like it was going to crack her ribs. Her mouth was completely dry.

Ding.

The doors opened. The fifth-floor hallway was dead silent. The floor was covered in a thick, cream-colored wool carpet that swallowed the sound of her footsteps.

She walked slowly down the hall, her eyes scanning the brass numbers on the walnut doors.

505. 506.

507.

Audrey stopped.

As she approached, the heavy double doors of suite 507 suddenly clicked and began to swing open. A uniformed building staff member backed out into the hallway, pulling a silver room-service cart. "Have a wonderful evening, Mr. Christian," the worker said politely, turning and pushing the cart toward the service elevator without noticing Audrey frozen in the shadows. The heavy walnut door began to glide shut on its hydraulic hinge. Audrey's heart leaped into her throat. She darted forward, her hand shooting out to catch the heavy wood just a fraction of a second before the latch engaged. She held her breath until her lungs burned, her fingers trembling against the cold brass, leaving a mere two-inch gap.

She crept closer, pressing her shoulder against the doorframe, and positioned her eye near the crack.

Warm, golden light spilled out from the apartment. The soft, rhythmic sound of a jazz record played from high-end speakers.

Through the narrow gap, her eyes immediately tracked to the entryway floor. A pair of women's house slippers sat neatly on the rug. They were the exact same brand and style Audrey wore at the Long Island mansion, just in a different color.

She shifted her gaze further into the room.

In the center of the massive living room sat a custom velvet sofa. The woman in the beige coat-Kelsey-was sitting on it. She had a small fork in her hand.

She scooped up a piece of pink cake and fed it directly into Willow's mouth.

Willow chewed, her face lighting up with pure joy.

"Thank you, Mommy Kelsey," Willow said. Her voice was loud, clear, and incredibly happy.

Audrey's pupils dilated. A violent shudder ripped through her entire body. The blood drained from her face so fast she felt dizzy.

Then, Colton walked into her line of sight.

He had taken off his overcoat and suit jacket. He was wearing just his white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He walked up behind the velvet sofa.

He leaned down, resting his hands on the back of the couch, and pressed his lips softly against the side of Kelsey's neck.

"Happy birthday, my girl," Colton murmured. His voice was deep, intimate, and dripping with affection.

Audrey's stomach violently convulsed. The bile rose hot and acidic in the back of her throat. She slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the gagging sound and stumbled backward, her heel catching on the thick carpet.

Audrey's back slammed hard against the cold wall of the hallway. She kept her hand clamped tightly over her mouth, her chest heaving as she dragged in silent, ragged breaths through her nose.

Her legs felt like water. She wanted to run. She wanted to sprint back to the elevator and disappear.

But a sick, masochistic urge forced her to stand up straight. She pushed herself off the wall and moved back to the two-inch gap in the doorway. She needed to see it all. She needed to let the reality burn away every last shred of hope she had left.

She looked past the sofa, taking in the details of the living room.

The cream-colored rug. The arched brass floor lamp standing in the corner. The abstract oil painting hanging directly above the marble fireplace.

Audrey's breath hitched.

It was an exact replica. The furniture, the layout, the color palette-it was a flawless recreation of the tiny, rundown apartment in Brooklyn she and Colton had shared during their first year of marriage, before the money, before the coldness.

He hadn't just bought this woman a luxury apartment. He had rebuilt the purest, happiest memories of Audrey's life and gifted them to someone else.

A single, hot tear broke free, sliding down Audrey's cheek. She let out a silent, bitter laugh.

The sound of running water echoed from the open-concept kitchen inside the apartment. The faucet was turned off with a sharp squeak.

A man walked out of the kitchen area. He was wearing a casual gray sweater, holding two crystal wine glasses filled with dark red wine.

He turned around and handed one of the glasses to Colton.

Audrey's eyes locked onto the man's face. The hallway spun.

It was Jerry Barrera.

The same man who, just three hours ago, had stood in the freezing cemetery, handed her a coffee, and told her to take the divorce money and leave.

Jerry raised his wine glass in the air, a wide, genuine smile on his face.

"Happy birthday, Kels," Jerry said warmly. He pointed to a small, wrapped box sitting on the coffee table. "I brought that custom mug you wanted from Milan. Had my assistant track it down."

A high-pitched ringing sound erupted in Audrey's ears, drowning out the jazz music.

Her husband. Her daughter. Her only trusted friend.

It was a complete, flawless circle of betrayal. They had all known. They had all sat around this velvet sofa, drinking wine, laughing, while she sat alone in a massive, empty mansion, crying over a dead child and a dead marriage. She was the punchline to a joke she didn't even know she was part of.

Inside the apartment, Kelsey suddenly stood up.

"Oh, I forgot!" Kelsey said, her voice bright. "The florist said they left the morning delivery out in the hall."

She slipped her feet into the slippers and started walking directly toward the front door.

The ringing in Audrey's ears vanished, replaced by a massive spike of adrenaline. Pure, animalistic panic flooded her system.

She spun away from the door. She didn't run toward the elevator-it would take too long to arrive. She darted to the left, toward the heavy metal door marked with a glowing red EXIT sign.

She grabbed the handle and yanked it open.

The metal hinges let out a sharp, high-pitched squeak.

Audrey threw herself into the dark, concrete stairwell and let the heavy door swing shut behind her, catching it at the last second to prevent it from slamming.

At that exact moment, the double doors of suite 507 were pulled wide open.

Kelsey stepped out into the hallway. She looked left, then right. The corridor was completely empty. The only sound was the faint hum of the building's ventilation system.

Kelsey frowned slightly. She looked down at the floor.

Just outside her door, on the pristine cream carpet, were two small, dark puddles of melting snow, left behind by Audrey's boots.

Kelsey stared at the water for a second, her brow furrowing. Then, she shrugged, bent down, and picked up a massive box of imported white roses sitting against the wall. She stepped back inside and pushed the door firmly shut until the lock clicked.

Inside the stairwell, Audrey was running.

Her high heels slapped against the raw concrete stairs, the sound echoing loudly in the narrow shaft. She gripped the metal railing, practically throwing herself down flight after flight. Her lungs burned, and her legs shook with every impact.

She burst through the ground-floor exit door and ran straight out into the freezing Manhattan snow.

She didn't stop running until she reached the open-air parking lot. She yanked open the door of her Volvo, threw herself into the driver's seat, and slammed the door shut.

The silence of the car wrapped around her.

Audrey gripped the steering wheel. She opened her mouth, and a raw, guttural scream tore from her throat. She screamed until her vocal cords felt like they were bleeding, hitting the steering wheel over and over again until her palms were bruised and numb.