The city lights of Manhattan smeared across the rain-slicked window of the Uber. Giovanna stared out, unseeing. The adrenaline that had carried her through the ballroom was beginning to fade, leaving behind a vast, hollow emptiness.

She pulled out her phone. Her thumb hovered over Johnathan's contact photo-a picture of them in the Hamptons, smiling, tan, a lifetime ago.

She pressed "Block."

A confirmation popped up. She confirmed.

She went to his WhatsApp. Block. Instagram. Block. Every digital thread connecting them, severed with a few cold, methodical taps. She deleted their photos, watching years of memories vanish into a digital void.

When it was done, she leaned her head back against the cool leather of the seat and let out a long, shuddering breath. It wasn't relief, not yet. It was just... quiet. The roaring in her ears had finally stopped.

"The address in Greenwich is correct, miss?" the driver asked, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror.

"Yes, it's correct," she confirmed.

The Brooks estate. The place she had called home for over a decade. It wasn't home anymore. It was just a building that held her things. She was going back for one reason: to erase herself from it completely.

The car turned off the main road, the tires hissing on the wet asphalt. It pulled up to the imposing, wrought-iron gates of the estate. Rain fell in a steady, miserable drizzle.

She got out, the cold, damp air clinging to her skin through the thin silk of her gown. She pressed the button on the intercom.

After a long moment, the hesitant voice of the housekeeper, Rosa, crackled through the speaker. "... Miss Giovanna?"

"It's me, Rosa. Please open the gate. I'm here to pack my things." Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

There was a muffled sound, a scuffle, and then a different voice, sharp and shrill, blasted from the speaker.

"What are you doing back here? You're not welcome!"

Danielle. Of course. They had beaten her here.

Giovanna's jaw tightened. "Danielle, get out of the way. My belongings are in that house, and I have a right to them."

A high-pitched, ugly laugh echoed through the intercom. "Your belongings? What do you own, Giovanna? Every single thing you have, every piece of clothing on your back, was paid for by this family! You ungrateful little thief!"

Giovanna flinched. Thief. She had heard that word for years—ever since Danielle arrived and she went from a Brooks's daughter to the girl who had stolen Danielle's place.

The line went dead.

Giovanna stood in the rain, staring at the closed gates. The last flicker of warmth she might have held for this place, for these people, was extinguished.

She took out her phone again and dialed her adoptive mother, Quinn Brooks.

Quinn answered on the second ring. Her voice was like a shard of glass. "Giovanna. Your behavior at the gala tonight was a disgrace to this family."

"I'm here to collect my personal items," Giovanna said, her patience wearing thin.

"You destroyed a crucial alliance with the Lancaster family, and now you want to what? Rummage through the house?" Quinn scoffed. "I order you to call Johnathan right now and apologize."

The absurdity of it was so profound, a hysterical laugh almost escaped her. "Apologize? Should I apologize for him betraying me?"

"Don't be a child," Quinn snapped, her voice sharp with impatience. "Johnathan's decision was for the good of the family. You should be more understanding."

In that moment, the final illusion shattered. Not a single person in that house cared about her. She had never been a daughter. She had been an asset. A commodity. And now, she had depreciated in value.

She took a deep breath, the cold, wet air burning her lungs. Her voice, when she spoke again, was as cold as the rain itself. "Quinn. I'm going to say this one last time. Open the gate."

"Did you not hear me?" Quinn's voice rose to a shriek. "Until you have figured out how to fix the mess you've made, you are not to set foot in this house again!"

The call ended.

The rain was coming down harder now, plastering the ruined silk of her gown to her skin. She didn't feel it. She just stared at the house, the warm lights glowing in the windows, a fortress of false comfort that had just locked her out for good.

Her lips pressed into a thin, hard line. An unfamiliar fire began to burn in her chest, a cold, clean flame that consumed the last of her grief and left only resolve in its wake.