Cressie was in the kitchen, pouring hot water for tea, when Ellsworth stormed in. He was still wearing his pajamas, his hair messy. He looked furious.

"Did you know?" he demanded.

Cressie didn't turn. "Know what?"

"About the trust!" He slammed a hand onto the marble island.

Beatrice followed him in, looking grim. She was holding a copy of the divorce papers Cressie had signed the night before.

"The agreement is void," Beatrice announced.

Cressie turned slowly. "Excuse me?"

"Clause 14, Section B of the Banks Family Trust," Beatrice recited from memory. "In the event of a divorce proceedings initiated during a pregnancy of a direct heir, all liquid assets of the trust are frozen until the child reaches the age of one."

Ellsworth looked like he wanted to punch a wall. "If we file these papers now, the bank freezes my capital. Banks Capital grinds to a halt. I can't trade. I can't close the merger."

Cressie took a sip of her tea. It was scalding hot, but she welcomed the burn. "So?"

"So," Beatrice said, her voice like steel, "you are not getting divorced. Not yet. You will remain married, legally and publicly, until the child is born and the trust conditions are met."

Cressie let out a dry laugh. "You want me to live here? With him? While he parades his mistress around town?"

"You will live here," Beatrice commanded. "You will play the happy couple for the press. In exchange, we will double your settlement."

"I don't want your money," Cressie said. "I want peace."

"Then you'll have to wait for it," Ellsworth snapped. "I'm not bankrupting my company because of bad timing."

Cressie looked at him. He was pathetic. A billionaire held hostage by his grandmother's rules. This was her leverage. If she left, his empire crumbled.

"Fine," Cressie said. "But I have conditions."

"More conditions?" Ellsworth groaned.

"I'm moving to the West Wing guest suite. Permanently. You stay in the Master. I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear you. And I certainly don't want to smell your... extracurricular activities."

Ellsworth flushed. "This is my house."

"And it's my womb carrying your trust fund key," Cressie shot back. Her voice was sharp, authoritative. It was the voice she used to use in boardrooms.

Ellsworth stared at her, stunned.

"Deal," Beatrice said quickly. "West Wing. Separate lives. Just keep the ring on."

Cressie set her mug down. "Done."

She walked past Ellsworth, brushing his shoulder. He flinched, as if she were electric.

That night, Ellsworth lay in the Master bedroom. It was huge. It was cold.

He was used to Cressie being there. Even when he ignored her, her presence was a constant-a warm body, the sound of her breathing, the smell of her vanilla lotion.

Now, the bed felt like an ice rink.

He rolled over, punching the pillow. He grabbed his phone. Jolie had sent him a photo. She was wearing lingerie, pouting at the camera. Miss you, baby.

He looked at it. Usually, this would excite him. Usually, he would call a car and go to her apartment.

But tonight, he just felt... tired.

He zoomed in on the photo. In the background of Jolie's selfie, on her nightstand, was a book. The Art of War.

He frowned. Since when did Jolie read strategy?

He swiped the photo away.

Down the hall, in the West Wing, Cressie was humming. She was organizing her new room. It was smaller, simpler.

She put her hand on her belly. "Just a few more months," she promised. "We stay in the belly of the beast. And we watch."

---

Cressie put on her robe and went down to the kitchen. The house was silent.

Mrs. Higgins, the housekeeper, was at the stove. She was frying bacon. The smell was heavenly.

"Good morning, Mrs. Higgins," Cressie said, reaching for a plate.

Higgins slapped her hand away with a spatula.

"Not for you," Higgins said. Her lip curled. "Mr. Banks requested a specific diet for you. Oatmeal. Water. No fats."

Cressie looked at the pile of crispy bacon, the fluffy scrambled eggs, the toast. "I'm pregnant. I need protein."

"Mr. Banks says you're gaining too much weight," Higgins said smugly. "He says it's embarrassing."

Cressie felt the blood rush to her ears. "He said that?"

"Explicitly." Higgins turned back to the stove. "Make your own oatmeal. The instant kind is in the pantry."

Cressie looked at the food. It was perfectly prepared. It was Ellsworth's favorite breakfast.

She looked at the trash can.

Something inside her snapped. It wasn't a loud snap. It was a quiet, decisive click.

She picked up the platter of bacon and eggs.

"What are you doing?" Higgins screeched.

Cressie walked to the bin and tilted the plate. The food slid off-bacon, eggs, toast-into the garbage, landing on top of coffee grounds.

"You crazy witch!" Higgins lunged, but it was too late.

"If I can't eat," Cressie said, her voice deadly calm, "then no one eats."

"What is going on here?"

Ellsworth stood in the doorway, dressed for work. He looked at the empty platter. He looked at the trash.

"She threw your breakfast away!" Higgins wailed, pointing a greasy finger at Cressie. "She's hysterical! I told her she had to stick to the diet you ordered, and she went crazy!"

Ellsworth looked at Cressie. "You wasted food? Do you know how childish that is?"

"I'm hungry, Ellsworth," Cressie said. "And your servant refused to feed me."

"Mrs. Higgins is not a servant, she is family," Ellsworth corrected. "And she's right. You are... swollen. You need to watch it."

He sided with the help. He sided with the woman who had just slapped her hand.

Cressie looked at him. Really looked at him.

"Apologize to Mrs. Higgins," Ellsworth said.

The room went still.

"No," Cressie said.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no." Cressie untied her robe and retied it, tighter. "I'm going out for breakfast. Put it on your black card."

She walked out of the kitchen.

"Cressie!" Ellsworth shouted after her.

She didn't stop. She didn't turn around.

She went to the garage, got into the town car, and told the driver to take her to a diner in Queens. A greasy spoon where no one knew her name.

She ordered pancakes, eggs, sausages, and a milkshake. She ate alone in a booth, tears streaming down her face as she chewed.

When she was done, she wiped her face with a paper napkin. She felt full. She felt strong.

She pulled out her laptop. She connected to the diner's spotty Wi-Fi.

She opened a new document.

Subject: Banks Capital - Discrepancies in Liquidity Ratios & Shell Company Audit.

She cracked her knuckles.

"You want to starve me?" she whispered to the blinking cursor. "I'll audit your cash flow until it bleeds."

---

"Can you hear me?" Evan's face appeared on the screen. He was in his office at Stanford, books piled high behind him.

"Loud and clear," Cressie said. She was sitting on the floor of her West Wing room, the door locked.

"I got the preliminary data you sent," Evan said. He sounded excited. "Cressie, this is gold. The way Banks Capital is leveraging these shell companies... it's legal, but barely. If the SEC saw this specifically the debt ratios..."

"They're over-leveraged," Cressie said, her eyes scanning the spreadsheet on her screen. "Ellsworth is betting on the merger to cover the liquidity gap. If the merger delays, the house of cards falls."

"Exactly. Look, I need you to dig deeper into the trust fund structure. That's the key to my research on dynastic wealth failures. I have set up the consulting contract. The payment will come through a blind LLC, registered in Delaware. It's perfectly legal, categorized as independent analysis fees."

"Perfect," Cressie said. "I need clean money. No trails back to the Winters estate."

"The wire is initiated. Your code name is Phoenix."

"Phoenix?"

"Rising from the ashes," Evan smiled. "Fitting, don't you think?"

A knock at the door made her jump.

"I have to go," she whispered. She slammed the laptop shut and shoved it under a pillow.

"Who is it?" she called out.

"It's me." Ellsworth.

She unlocked the door. He was standing there holding a flat cardboard box. The smell of pepperoni and cheap cheese wafted in.

"Higgins said she... overreacted this morning," Ellsworth mumbled. He wouldn't meet her eyes. "I brought you a pizza."

It was a peace offering. A lazy, thoughtless peace offering.

Cressie looked at the pizza. The grease was soaking through the bottom of the box.

"I hate pepperoni," she said. "And since the first trimester, the smell of cured meat makes me violently ill."

Ellsworth blinked. "Since when?"

"Since five months ago. You would know that if you ever asked me how the pregnancy was going. Or if you attended a single dinner at home instead of 'working late'."

Ellsworth looked at the box, then at her. He looked lost. "I... I didn't know."

"You don't know a lot of things," Cressie said.

She took the box from him. She walked to the window, opened it, and set the box on the sill outside. "Thanks. I'll let the birds eat it."

Ellsworth's face hardened. "You're being difficult on purpose."

"I'm being honest," Cressie said. "There's a difference."

She walked back to the bed and sat down. "Was there anything else? Or can I go back to... resting?"

Ellsworth lingered in the doorway. His eyes swept the room. They landed on the pillow where the laptop was hidden. A corner of silver metal was sticking out.

"What are you doing in here all day?" he asked suspiciously.

"Knitting," Cressie lied smoothly. "Booties for your heir."

Ellsworth scoffed. "Right."

He turned and left.

As soon as he was gone, Cressie pulled the laptop out. Her phone pinged. A notification from the bank.

Deposit Received: $15,000.00.

Sender: Helix Consulting Group LLC.

Cressie smiled. It was the first money she had earned in three years. It felt better than any allowance Ellsworth had ever given her.

She opened a food delivery app. She ordered a steak. A filet mignon, medium rare, with truffle mashed potatoes and asparagus.

When it arrived forty minutes later, she signed for it at the front door while Higgins watched, mouth agape.

"Put it on my tab," Cressie winked at the butler. "I'm paying for this one myself."

---