Herminia stared at the man standing tall and self-righteous in front of her. A cold, empty smile touched her lips.

That smile made Bradley's jaw tighten. He reached out to grab her shoulder.

Herminia twisted away, fast. She dodged his hand like it was contagious.

Bradley's arm hung in the air. His face darkened to an ugly purple. "Stop making a scene out of nothing."

Herminia just looked at him. "In these three years of marriage, Bradley... did you ever actually love me?"

The massive living room went silent. Only the faint hum of the air conditioning filled the space.

Bradley raked a hand through his hair, staring at the floor. "We're legally married. Talking about love is childish."

That answer landed like a door slamming shut. Herminia's hands trembled once. She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath.

When she opened them, every trace of softness was gone. Only flat, hard resolve remained.

She turned her back to him and walked to the mahogany desk by the window. She pulled open the top drawer.

Bradley frowned at her back. "What kind of trick are you playing now?"

Herminia pulled out a thick document. She walked back and slapped it onto the glass coffee table.

The bold black letters on the cover read: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.

Bradley glanced down and let out a harsh scoff. He thought this was another pathetic tactic to get his attention. He dropped onto the sofa, crossed his long legs, and looked up at her with pure arrogance. "I'm not signing that. Stop this nonsense."

Herminia picked up a silver fountain pen, pulled off the cap, and held it out to him.

"I'm giving up the Manhattan penthouse," she said, voice flat. "I'm giving up all dividend shares in Elliott Capital."

The arrogant smirk on Bradley's face cracked. He stared at her, eyes narrowing.

"I don't want a single cent of alimony. I'm leaving with nothing. Just sign the paper."

Those words ignited something violent inside him. He shot up from the sofa and closed the distance in a second. He grabbed her chin, fingers digging into her skin, and glared down at her. "Do not play hard-to-get with me, Herminia."

Herminia didn't flinch. She met his furious gaze and slapped his hand away with all her strength.

"Consider these three years fed to the dogs," she said, pronouncing every word. "I think you are dirty."

The word "dirty" snapped something in Bradley. He let out a dark, furious laugh and pointed a shaking finger toward the front door.

"You think you can survive without me? A woman who didn't even finish high school? You'll be begging on the streets in a week!"

Herminia didn't argue. She simply pushed the divorce papers closer to his side of the table.

Bradley felt utterly humiliated. He snatched his suit jacket from the rack. "You'll cry and beg me to take you back," he spat.

He turned and stormed toward the entryway. The heavy oak door slammed with a massive bang. The walls vibrated.

Herminia stood alone in the empty living room. Her eyes were dry. She turned and walked toward the bedroom to pack.

Herminia yanked a black suitcase from the top shelf of the closet and threw it open on the thick carpet.

She ignored the rows of designer dresses and luxury handbags Bradley had bought her. She grabbed only her old, faded t-shirts, a few pairs of jeans, and her essential documents.

She walked to the vanity mirror and stared at her pale face. Her eyes were hard, focused.

Slowly, she worked the massive diamond wedding ring off her left ring finger. Her hand didn't shake.

Without a second of hesitation, she walked to the living room and dropped the ring directly on top of the divorce agreement.

She zipped the suitcase shut. The metal teeth locked with a sharp, final sound.

Herminia dragged the suitcase out of the apartment. She didn't look back at the golden cage that had trapped her for three years.

She stepped into the private elevator and hit the lobby button. When the doors slid open, the security guards in the marble lobby stared at her in shock.

Arthur, the family's private driver, rushed over. "Madam, where are you going? Do you need me to prepare the car?"

Herminia looked at him, expression flat. "I am no longer Mrs. Elliott."

She walked past him, pushed through the revolving glass doors, and stepped into the crisp autumn air of New York.

She flagged down a yellow cab, threw her suitcase in the trunk, and slid into the back seat. "The Plaza Hotel."

As the cab sped down the highway, Herminia pulled out her phone and dialed.

The call connected almost instantly. Anne Roberson's anxious voice came through. "Herminia? Are you okay?"

"I'm finally free, Anne," Herminia said, her voice a little hoarse.

A loud cheer erupted from the other end. "Thank God! I'm coming to the airport right now. Wait for me!"

An hour later, the yellow cab pulled up to the grand entrance of The Plaza. Herminia stepped out and immediately spotted a bright red Porsche parked illegally at the curb.

Anne jumped out in her high heels and pulled Herminia into a bone-crushing hug. "That blind bastard Bradley doesn't deserve you!" she yelled, not caring who heard. "Happy rebirth day!"

The tension in Herminia's shoulders finally released. She offered her first genuine smile in months.

They tossed the suitcase in the back and got into the low sports car. Anne handed her a hot cup of coffee. "So, what's the plan? A month in Europe to detox?"

Herminia shook her head. She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a heavy, matte-black encrypted laptop. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed in a complex string of passwords.

The screen lit up with a classified dashboard labeled "Project Iris." A massive funding gap in MY Corporation flashed red.

Herminia's gaze hardened. The tired, defeated look vanished from her face.

"Cancel the vacation," she said, staring at the screen. "I have urgent business to handle."

The Mediterranean sun beat down on the private terrace of the luxury resort. Bradley lay on a lounge chair behind dark sunglasses, swirling a glass of champagne.

Kristal stepped out of the infinity pool in a tiny bikini, water dripping down her tanned legs. She walked over and leaned her wet body against his shoulder.

Bradley instinctively shifted away.

A flash of pure annoyance crossed Kristal's eyes, but she hid it fast. She picked up a piece of sliced fruit and offered it to him with a sweet smile.

Before Bradley could respond, his private cell phone vibrated violently on the glass table. He glanced at the screen—his mother, Priscilla Allsworthy.

He answered. His mother's shrill voice pierced his ear instantly.

"Bradley! Your wife has not shown her face at the family estate for three days! How dare she disrespect the elders like this!"

Bradley sat up so fast his champagne sloshed onto his white robe. Ice-cold liquid soaked into the fabric, but he barely noticed. Three days? He thought Herminia was just throwing a tantrum in the Manhattan apartment. He never imagined she would skip the mandatory family gathering.

He muttered a quick excuse and hung up. A tight, suffocating pressure gripped his chest.

"Is sister making mother angry again?" Kristal asked, trying to sound innocent.

Bradley ignored her completely. He opened his contacts and dialed the number he hadn't called in three days.

No ringing. A cold, robotic female voice spoke: "The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

Bradley thought the signal was bad. He stood, walked to the edge of the terrace, and dialed again. The exact same robotic voice. She hadn't just blocked him. She had canceled her number entirely.

Ice-cold panic and hot anger twisted in his gut. His fingers squeezed the phone so hard the casing creaked.

He immediately dialed his executive assistant, Connor Hayes. "Go to the penthouse right now. Find out what she's doing."

Five minutes later, Connor called back. His voice was shaking. "Sir... the apartment is empty. Dust everywhere." He swallowed hard. "Madam took all her personal clothes. It looks like... she really moved out."

A high-pitched ringing filled Bradley's ears. That woman actually dared to leave him.

He turned and marched back into the suite, ripping off his robe and throwing on a dress shirt.

Kristal ran after him. "Bradley, what's wrong? We have the yacht party tonight!"

Bradley's face darkened. "The trip is canceled. We're going back to New York. Now."

Kristal bit her bottom lip and reached out to grab his sleeve. "But you promised—"

Bradley slapped her hand away without a second of hesitation. His eyes were flat and cold.

"Get the jet ready," he ordered Connor over the phone, ignoring Kristal entirely. He couldn't breathe in that room another second.

Kristal watched his back as he rushed out, her fingernails digging into her palms until they bled.

Two hours later, a private jet bearing the Elliott Capital logo tore through the European night sky, heading straight for New York.