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.

The St. Regis bar was a study in hushed power. Dark wood, low light, and the clink of ice in expensive scotch. Tess Pham's office was a study in organized chaos. Stacks of legal briefs sat on every surface, but the desk was immaculate. Tess herself was a petite woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor that had made her one of the most feared litigators in the city.

"Mr. Cruz," Edith said, her smile dropping the moment she saw the man's wary face. "Thank you for meeting me."

Edith sat down in the chair across from her. She looked terrible. She hadn't slept, hadn't eaten. The bruises on her wrist had faded to an ugly yellow-green.

She told him everything. The gala, the injection, the diagnosis, the trust fund, Milo. She held nothing back.

By the time she finished, Cristobal Cruz, a silver-haired titan of industry and Giovanni's primary rival, was leaning forward, his face a mask of intense calculation. "This is not just grounds for divorce, this is assault! Illegal confinement, medical malpractice, intentional infliction of emotional distress... a dozen felonies!"

Edith just looked at her, exhausted. "But?"

Cristobal's shoulders slumped. He sat back down, his legal mind taking over. "But Giovanni Baldwin has the best lawyers money can buy. They will bury us in paperwork and motions. They will drag this out for years. And the key issue is the merger."

"Milo," Edith repeated.

"When your parents died, Giovanni stepped in as your husband and petitioned for guardianship," Tess explained, pulling a file from a drawer. "He claimed you were emotionally unstable and financially dependent. The court agreed. He has full legal control over Milo's medical care."

"Then we prove he's an unfit guardian," Edith said, leaning forward. "He's drugging him into a stupor."

"We will," Cristobal said. "I'm going to file an emergency motion for an independent medical evaluation of Milo. If we can get a doctor to testify that he's being over-medicated, we can get the guardianship revoked."

Edith felt a flicker of hope. "Do it."

The hope was short-lived.

Two days later, Anya called Edith, who was hiding out in a cheap motel in Queens.

"The OmniCorp deal is accelerating," Anya said, her voice tight with frustration. "Giovanni's team filed a counter-motion. They claim you're the unstable one. They submitted evidence of your 'erratic behavior'-leaving the gala abruptly, liquidating assets... They're painting you as unhinged."

"I liquidated the necklace to save our supplier," Edith protested.

"He's setting a narrative, Edith," Anya said grimly. "The judge wants a full hearing before he allows any independent evaluation. It's going to take months."

Months. Her company didn't have months. It was wasting away in that chair.

Edith hung up the phone. She stared at the peeling wallpaper of the motel room. She couldn't wait months. She couldn't play by their rules anymore.

She pulled up Giovanni's public schedule on her phone-an app she had never deleted from her marriage. He had a board meeting at Baldwin Tower this afternoon.

She put on her only clean suit, hailed a cab, and marched into the lion's den.

The lobby of Baldwin Tower was a cathedral of glass and steel. Security was tight, but Edith still had the VIP access card. She swiped it at the turnstile, ignoring the surprised look of the guard, and stepped into the executive elevator.

The doors opened onto the executive floor. Two security guards immediately stepped in her path.

"Mrs. Baldwin, you can't be up here."

"Get out of my way," Edith said, her voice cold. She tried to push past them, but they grabbed her arms.

"Let me go!" she shouted, her voice echoing down the hallway. "Giovanni!"

At the end of the hall, the heavy wooden doors of the boardroom opened. Giovanni stepped out, his face a mask of cold fury.

"Bring her in," he said.

The guards dragged her into the boardroom. Around the massive table sat the directors of the Baldwin empire, all of them staring at her with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

Edith shook off the guards' hands. She straightened her jacket and looked at Giovanni, who stood at the head of the table like a king on his throne.

"Giovanni, please," she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. "Whatever you want from me, I'll do it. Just call off the acquisition. They're innocent."

The silence in the room was deafening. The directors exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Giovanni looked at her, his eyes sweeping over her cheap suit and desperate face. He felt a flicker of something-was it pity? No, it was irritation. She was making a scene. She was embarrassing him.

He slowly buttoned his suit jacket, a gesture of dismissal.

"Gentlemen," he said, his voice calm and mocking, "allow me to introduce my... estranged wife. As you can see, she is emotionally distressed."

He turned to the guards. "She seems to have forgotten where she belongs. Please escort Ms. Woods out. And make sure she doesn't disrupt our business again."

The guards grabbed her arms again, their grips bruising.

"No!" Edith struggled, her eyes locked on Giovanni. "You can't do this! You're killing them! Giovanni!"

Giovanni turned his back on her, picking up a document from the table as if she wasn't even there.

Edith was dragged out of the room, her cries echoing down the marble hallway. The elevator doors closed, cutting off her view of his cold, indifferent face.

They threw her out the front entrance. She stumbled on the pavement, falling to her knees on the dirty sidewalk. Pedestrians walked around her, casting curious or disgusted glances at the crazy woman in the cheap suit.

Edith stayed on the ground, the cold concrete seeping through her clothes. She had begged. She had humiliated herself. And he had thrown her away like trash.

Anya's apartment was a sanctuary. It smelled like takeout and expensive perfume samples, a smell that had always meant safety to Edith.

She was curled up on the sofa, a blanket pulled up to her chin, staring at nothing. Anya had found her outside Baldwin Tower, brought her back, and forced her to eat.

"It's going to be okay," Anya said, pacing the room. "His behavior today was outrageous. The press will have a field day. We'll use this in the hearing."

Edith didn't respond. She was numb. Begging hadn't worked. The law was too slow. She was out of options.

The next morning, Anya's phone started buzzing. Then Edith's burner phone. Then the TV in the living room, which Anya had left on for background noise.

"Breaking news this morning," the anchor said, his voice grave. "Baldwin Holdings is facing a major scandal. A subsidiary, Ayala Corp, is under investigation for using a charitable foundation to launder money and engage in insider trading."

Edith sat up, her eyes fixed on the screen. A photo of Kassandra Ayala flashed on the screen, followed by a blurry image of Edith being dragged out of Baldwin Tower yesterday.

"Sources indicate the leak came from within the family," the anchor continued. "Reports suggest that Giovanni Baldwin's estranged wife, Edith Woods, may have been involved in the scheme, using her access to profit from the trades."

"That's a lie!" Anya shouted at the TV. "He's framing you!"

Edith felt the blood drain from her face. It was a setup. Kassandra's family name was on the company, but Giovanni was shifting the blame to Edith. He was destroying her reputation to cover his tracks and punish her for her defiance.

An hour later, Anya received a call from Giovanni's legal team.

Anya put it on speaker. A smooth, male voice filled the room.

"Ms. Pham, we have a proposal for your client. If Mrs. Baldwin holds a press conference, taking responsibility for the regulatory oversight failure at Ayala Corp, Mr. Baldwin is willing to drop all charges. Furthermore, he will consider improving the medical care for her brother, Milo Snider."

Edith's hands curled into fists. "Consider?" she spat. "He wants me to take the fall for his dead girlfriend's family's crimes, and in return, he'll 'consider' not destroying my company?"

"It's a trap, Edith," Anya said, her voice tight. "If you admit guilt, you could go to jail. The SEC doesn't care about press conferences."

Edith thought of her team at Dreamscape, working tirelessly, their livelihoods on the line. She thought of the takeover notice for her supplier.

"I'll do it," she said.

Anya stared at her. "Edith, no."

"If I don't, he'll kill Dreamscape," Edith said, her voice hollow. "He'll buy up every supplier, poach every designer, until there's nothing left. I can't fight him from a jail cell, and I can't fight him if my company is dead."

The press conference was held that afternoon in the ballroom of the Baldwin Hotel. It was packed. Hundreds of reporters, cameras, blinding lights.

Edith walked out onto the stage alone. She wore a simple black dress, her hair pulled back, her face pale but composed. She looked like a woman going to her own execution.

She stepped up to the podium. The flashes were blinding, the noise deafening. She looked out at the sea of faces, all of them hungry for her destruction.

She pulled out the statement Giovanni's team had prepared. The words were lies, every single one of them.

"I take full responsibility for my oversight," she read, her voice flat and mechanical. "I deeply regret the damage caused to the shareholders and the company..."

Each word was a shard of glass in her throat. She was signing away her honor, her integrity, her future. She was becoming the villain they wanted her to be.

The questions came fast and furious. "Mrs. Baldwin, how much did you profit?" "Did your husband know?" "Are you wearing a wire?"

Edith ignored them all. She finished the statement, bowed her head slightly, and walked off the stage.

Backstage, the hallway was empty. But as she turned the corner, she saw them.

Giovanni was standing by a service door, his phone to his ear. A wide, genuine smile was on his face. A smile she had never seen directed at her.

"It's done, Kassandra," he said, his voice warm and triumphant. "The heat is off you. You're safe now."

Edith stopped. She stared at his back. He wasn't just destroying her to control her. He was destroying her as a gift to another woman.

Giovanni turned his head and saw her. The smile didn't falter; it simply shifted into a look of cold satisfaction.

Edith looked at him, the man she had loved, the man who had broken her body and her spirit. The last tiny ember of hope, the last shred of the girl she used to be, turned to ash in her chest.

She didn't say a word. She just turned and walked away, the sound of his triumphant voice echoing in her ears.