Giovanni turned his back on Edith, the phone pressed tight to his ear. He strode into his study and slammed the door shut.

The click of the latch was like a gunshot in the silent apartment.

Edith slid down the wall, her legs giving out. She sat on the cold marble floor, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She could hear the muffled sound of Giovanni's voice through the heavy wood, rising and falling in an agitated rhythm.

Inside the study, Giovanni yanked his tie loose, feeling like he was being strangled.

"Giovanni," Harold Baldwin's voice was cold, clipped, and utterly devoid of affection. "Any progress? The acquisition of OmniCorp is faltering. Our sources say a ghost player is driving up the price."

Giovanni squeezed his eyes shut. "Everything is under control. We're working on it."

"Do not lie to me," Harold snapped. "Your grandfather built this empire from nothing. I expanded it. You are letting it be nibbled to death by unknowns. The board is losing confidence. They see you distracted, unfocused. Do you understand what that means?"

Giovanni felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. "I understand."

"Then why is your attention not on the market?" Harold's voice was lethal. "I don't care what issues you have with that girl. The Woods merger was your last chance to stabilize the East Asia sector after the Ayala partnership collapsed. You will make it work. The legacy of this family depends on it. Do not fail me."

The line went dead.

Giovanni stood in the silence of his study, the phone still pressed to his ear. A roaring sound filled his head. He had let his personal vendetta against Edith distract him, and now his professional world was crumbling. He had poisoned the well, and now he was dying of thirst.

He opened his eyes, staring at his reflection in the dark window. He looked like a madman.

He threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and shattered into pieces.

He took a deep breath, forcing the panic down. He had to fix this. He had to find a way.

He straightened his tie, smoothed his hair, and walked back out into the living room.

Edith was still sitting on the floor. She looked up as he approached, her eyes wary, bracing for another attack.

But Giovanni's face was a mask. The rage was gone, replaced by an eerie, unsettling calm. He walked over to her and crouched down, his movements slow and deliberate.

"Edith," he said, his voice soft, almost gentle. "Let's talk."

He reached out, his fingers hovering near her cheek as if to stroke it.

Edith flinched violently, jerking her head away. "Don't touch me."

Giovanni's jaw tightened, a flicker of impatience crossing his features, but he forced it down. "Perhaps I was too harsh," he said, the words sounding foreign and stiff on his tongue. "I was angry. I acted out of line."

Edith stared at him, disbelief written all over her face. The man who had pinned her to the wall five minutes ago was now trying to apologize?

"Forget about the tension between us," Giovanni continued, his voice smooth, persuasive. "I will unsuspend your accounts. I can give you a black card, anything you want. You can buy whatever you need."

Edith let out a short, hollow laugh. "You think money can fix this? You think you can buy my forgiveness after what you've done?"

"I was angry," Giovanni repeated, his tone hardening slightly before he caught himself. "We can... try to coexist. We can present a united front. The merger depends on it. There has to be a way to make this work."

Edith felt a wave of nausea wash over her. His sudden concern for their marriage was sickening. It wasn't about her. It was about what she represented for his business.

"There's nothing to fix, Giovanni," she said, her voice flat. "I want a divorce. That is not negotiable."

Giovanni stared at her, his eyes narrowing. The soft approach wasn't working. She was immune to his money and his fake apologies. He needed a new strategy. He needed time.

He stood up, taking a step back. "Fine," he said, his voice cool. "Don't make any decisions tonight. Just... stay. We'll talk in the morning."

It was a retreat. Giovanni Baldwin never retreated. But he had no choice. He had to regroup.

He grabbed his coat from the chair. "I have an emergency at the office. Don't leave this apartment."

He walked out the door without looking back.

Edith sat on the floor for a long time after he left. The silence of the apartment pressed in on her. He was going to shore up his business deals. He was going to look for a way to control her. He wasn't going to let her go.

She pulled out her burner phone. Her hands were shaking, but her mind was clear. She needed help. She needed information.

She scrolled through her contacts until she found the number. She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the call button. If she did this, there was no going back.

She pressed the button.

It rang twice before a professional, calm voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Anya," Edith said, her voice quiet but firm. "It's Lan. I need to see you. I need to know everything about the OmniCorp deal."

The café was a private gallery on the Lower East Side, far from the glittering towers of Midtown. It smelled of oil paint and old money. It was the kind of place where no one asked questions, and more importantly, where Giovanni Baldwin's spies would never think to look.

Edith sat in a secluded alcove, her hands wrapped around a delicate porcelain cup. She hadn't touched the tea.

The discreet side door opened. Anya walked in, looking impeccable in a tailored suit, a stark contrast to Edith's own disheveled state.

She slid into the seat across from her, avoiding her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Edith," she said immediately, her voice thick with concern. "I should never have let you go back there."

Edith looked at her, her gaze steady. "I don't need your apology, Anya. I need to know why."

She leaned forward, dropping her voice. "Why would Giovanni do this to me? What is the real story behind the Woods-Baldwin merger, and what does it have to do with Dakota Ayala?"

Anya rubbed a hand over her face, the internal struggle visible in every line of her body. Giovanni was a dangerous enemy. The Baldwins were a dynasty. But the woman sitting across from her had been destroyed by his own hand.

"He didn't know," Anya blurted out, the words tumbling out of her. "About your father's deal with Harold. He thinks the merger was your family's idea, a hostile move after the Ayala partnership fell apart. He blames your father for Dakota's... accident."

Edith frowned, her stomach twisting. "What deal? What are you talking about?"

Anya took a deep breath, looking around the empty gallery before leaning in close. "Dakota Ayala's family company was Baldwin's key to the European market. But they were unstable. When Dakota died in that car crash, the partnership died with her. The Baldwins were hemorrhaging money. Your father, seeing an opportunity, approached Harold. He offered a merger—Woods International would stabilize their Asian markets in exchange for a controlling stake. But he had one condition."

The words hung in the air between them. Edith felt a coldness seep into her bones, a coldness that had nothing to do with the drafty gallery.

"The marriage," she whispered, the pieces clicking into place. "He demanded I marry Giovanni."

Anya nodded miserably. "Your father believed it was the only way to secure the deal and protect your future. A union of the two families. But Giovanni... he saw it as a betrayal. An insult to Dakota's memory. He thinks your family capitalized on his tragedy. He wanted to punish you. He wanted to make sure you could never give the family what they wanted. He didn't realize he was cutting his own throat until it was too late."

Edith sat back, the reality of it crashing over her. She wasn't a wife. She had never been a wife. She was a bargaining chip. A walking contract clause for the Baldwin legacy. And Giovanni, in his blind hatred, had smashed the very thing he was supposed to cultivate.

The cruelty wasn't just personal. It was systemic. She was a commodity, and she had been damaged goods the moment the deal was signed.

A harsh, broken laugh escaped her lips. It was a sound of pure despair. "So, his sudden concern, his offers of money and a united front... that's not regret. That's panic. He needs his merger back on track."

Anya looked down at the table, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry, Edith. I am so sorry."

Edith stood up. She didn't feel angry anymore. The anger had burned away, leaving only a cold, hard diamond of resolve in her chest.

"Thank you, Anya," she said, her voice completely devoid of emotion. "For telling me."

She walked out of the gallery into the brisk afternoon air. The city noise washed over her, but she felt detached from it all. She was living in a different world now. A world where the truth was a weapon, and she was the only one who knew it.

She took a cab back to the penthouse. The apartment was empty. Giovanni was still out, probably tearing the city apart looking for a way to salvage his deals.

Edith walked into the bedroom. Her small portfolio was still sitting on the bed. She hadn't unpacked it.

She zipped it closed. She pulled the engagement ring off her finger and placed it on the nightstand. It felt like removing a shackle.

She walked to the front door. Martha Kowalski was in the foyer, dusting a table that didn't need dusting. The housekeeper looked up, her eyes filled with a sadness that said she knew.

"Godspeed, Mrs. Baldwin," Martha whispered.

Edith paused at the door. She turned back, looking the older woman in the eye.

"It's Woods," Edith said firmly. "My name is Edith Woods."

She walked out of the penthouse, the heavy door closing behind her with a soft, final click. She walked past the doorman, out into the sunlight. The sun was warm on her face, but she felt nothing.

She was free. But she was also alone, broke, and broken. And she had a company to save.

The cab dropped Edith off at the grand entrance of the Plaza Hotel. The Dakota Ayala Foundation was hosting its annual fundraising gala, an event Edith, as Mrs. Baldwin, could not avoid. It was the kind of place where wealthy families laundered their reputations with charity.

Edith walked up to the front desk. "I'm here to see Milo Snider."

The receptionist, a woman with a tight bun and an even tighter smile, tapped away at her keyboard. "And you are?"

"His sister. Edith Woods."

The woman's smile faltered. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Visitation requires the approval of the legal guardian, Mr. Alistair Stephenson."

Edith took a deep breath and stepped onto the red carpet. She wore a simple, elegant black gown of her own design-understated, but flawless. A suit of armor.

The ballroom was a sea of jewels and fake smiles. She felt hundreds of eyes on her, whispering, judging. The unworthy replacement for the sainted Dakota.

"Milo," Edith called out softly as she approached.

He didn't react. She walked around to the front of his chair and knelt down. His eyes were glassy, unfocused. A thin line of drool escaped the corner of his mouth.

Panic seized her. She took his hand. It was limp, completely devoid of strength. She looked at his arm and saw the faint, bruised puncture mark in the crook of his elbow.

They were drugging him. Alistair was keeping him sedated, turning him into a vegetable.

"Kassandra Ayala, radiant as ever, was holding court by the grand staircase. Giovanni was at her side, a dark, handsome shadow.

"Edith," Kassandra said, her voice dripping with false sweetness as Edith approached. "You came. I'm so glad you're supporting Dakota's legacy."

Edith's heart shattered. She pressed her forehead against his knee, tears burning her eyes. "Of course," she whispered fiercely. "It's a wonderful cause."

She stormed back inside and cornered a nurse. "Why is he so heavily sedated? He's supposed to be in physical therapy!"

The nurse gave her a placating smile. "Mr. Snider gets agitated easily. The medication is for his own safety, as per Dr. Frye's orders and Mr. Stephenson's instructions."

Kassandra's smile was a weapon. Giovanni's presence was a weight on her chest. She couldn't fight them here. They were on their home turf. She had to get out, had to find another way.

She excused herself, the anger burning a hole in her gut. She needed to find her contact, a key investor she was trying to win over for Dreamscape Atelier.

She made her way through the crowd, her eyes scanning for her target.

As she walked down the corridor of the VIP wing toward the exit, she heard a familiar voice.

"Giovanni, I feel so dizzy."

Edith froze. She pressed herself against the wall, peering around the corner.

In a private suite, the door left ajar, Giovanni Baldwin was crouching down in front of a plush armchair. His face was a mask of tender concern, his hand gently stroking the hair of the woman sitting in it.

Kassandra Ayala. She looked pale and fragile, a delicate flower wilting under the strain. She leaned into Giovanni's touch, her eyes fluttering.

"The doctor said my heart condition is getting worse because of all the stress," Kassandra whimpered, her voice trembling.

Giovanni's expression hardened for a fraction of a second before softening again. "It's my fault," he said, his voice low and soothing. "I shouldn't have let the Woods get near you again. I'll handle Edith. You just focus on getting better."

Edith watched the display, a bitter taste filling her mouth. Kassandra Ayala, the woman who was manipulating her husband's grief, was playing the victim in a luxury suite. Her family, the true victims of the Baldwins' machinations, were being vilified.

The hypocrisy was staggering. The man who had destroyed her life for this woman was now cooing over a fake heart condition.

Edith didn't feel sad. She didn't feel jealous. She felt a cold, calculating rage settle over her like armor. Giovanni didn't care about truth or justice. He only cared about the narrative that suited him.

She turned and walked away, her footsteps silent on the plush carpet. She wouldn't beg anymore. She wouldn't plead. She would fight.

She stepped out into the dazzling ballroom, pulling out her phone. She opened a browser and typed in a search: "Cristobal Cruz, CEO of OmniCorp."

The results populated. She scrolled past the big firms, the ones Giovanni probably owned. Her eyes caught a name near the top. A woman she knew. A woman who didn't back down from a fight.

The search result showed his current location: The St. Regis bar, two blocks away.

Edith tapped the number. It was time to go to war.