“You're independent, you don't need anyone picking you up after work. But that doesn't mean every other girl is like you……”

“Marian slept under a bridge last night. Have you even thought about how dangerous that was for her?”

“All I'm asking is for you to switch rooms. You're my wife. The card I gave you has no limit. Just book another room. Is that really so hard?”

The hallway was quiet.

The hostel's old wooden door let out a faint creak.

I laughed out loud.

“Why should I?”

I lifted my head slowly, my eyes perfectly calm.

“Why should I spend our money—our shared marital property—to book a room for Marian Cox? She's nothing to me.”

“And you say it so casually. 'The card I gave you.' Where is it? Did I ever take it?”

Brent's face turned ugly.

“You said people would accuse you of using your position for personal gain. That they'd say I was bullying some junior secretary. That it would hurt the company's reputation.”

“But locking me in this dump and surrounding me with strange men. That gets out, and it won't hurt the reputation?”

Brent's face cycled between white and grey, irritation bleeding through his voice.

“I can't out-argue you.”

“Georgina, today I just wanted to use this to disgust you.”

“Be grateful nothing happened to Marian that night. Otherwise, today wouldn't be as simple as paying some bums to scare you.”

“I won't let them touch you. But tonight, you stay here.”

“Until dawn.”

“You don't go anywhere.”

He turned and left without a second's hesitation.

“Brent Sanchez, don't you walk away!”

I moved to follow, but the bald one stepped into my path.

“Money taken, job to do. Twenty grand's twenty grand. You leave, and we don't get paid.”

The smell hit me first: stale cigarettes and sweat, like something rotting out of mildewed clothes.

“Hey, relax, pretty lady,”

the skinny one said with a grin. “We're just regular folks. What are we gonna do to you?”

“Your husband's just looking out for you. Letting you get a taste of real life.”

The one with the scar rubbed his hands together, a filthy grin on his face.

“Look at the fabric on that outfit. One touch and I'd owe half a year's wages, huh?”

“Don't worry, we wouldn't dare lay a finger on you. Just keeping you company, chatting all night long……”

As he spoke, his tongue dragged across his lips, and his hand shot toward my chest. My foot caught him first.

A crack—like bone snapping—and then his scream.

“Holy shit, she knows how to fight!”

“Why the hell didn't that guy warn us?”

I swept my gaze over them, cold. “Who's next?”

They looked at each other. No one moved. Not one of them dared step forward again.

“You're doing Brent Sanchez's dirty work for twenty thousand dollars. Selling your lives that cheap. You're idiots.”

The bald one's grin shrank.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

I looked at them, one by one, ice in every glance.

“Do you know who I am?”

Silence.

“Brent Sanchez is my husband. Whatever's between us is between us. He dragged you into it.”

“You really think this counts as helping?”

“Right now you're standing here, circling me. Under criminal law, that's group sexual assault.”

“That signal jammer killed my phone. That bumps unlawful detention up to an aggravated charge.”

“Brent Sanchez is the mastermind. Every one of you is an accomplice.”

The scarred one pulled his hand back.

“We didn't do anything!”

They scrambled to distance themselves, panic written all over their faces.

“Wait until you do, and it'll be too late.”

My voice came out cold.

“Right now you haven't laid a finger on me. Legally, that means you can still walk away clean. Go out that door on your own, and I'll pretend none of this happened.”

“But if you really want to be his accomplices, don't blame me for using every single thing I learned in law school to put you behind bars for the rest of your lives.”

Not one of them was laughing anymore.

The skinny one suddenly looked panicked and turned toward the doorway.

“Mr. Sanchez, this……this isn't what you told us.”

“You said she was just some regular woman, that all we had to do was scare her a little.”

“She knows how to fight and she knows the law. We can't mess with her.”

I turned to look too—Brent Sanchez, back again.

He was leaning against the doorframe. Then he smiled.

“Georgina, I have to say—this is the first time I've noticed that mouth of yours is almost cute.”

He straightened up from the doorframe.

Tossed a towel at them.

“Since her mouth won't stop running, stuff it.”

“You know, Georgina?”

“Last time you were this loud was when you were singing at that karaoke lounge.”

“Marian and I were right next door. The second she heard your voice she went all tense—pressed herself into me even harder.”

Every word was a knife punched straight through my chest.

“Brent Sanchez, I told you.”

I ground the words through my teeth. “I will make you regret this.”

He patted my cheek, then pulled the door shut himself this time.

“I said you stay here the whole night before you get let out. That's your punishment.”

“Georgina. You'll endure it.”

That night lasted forever.

My earlier threats had done their job. The three drifters sat obediently off to the side and didn't dare bother me.

The next morning, the moment they were let out, they tripped over each other rushing to find Brent and collect their money.

Once the signal jammer was removed, my phone flooded with unread messages and missed calls.

One of them was from Assistant Lambert.

On the phone, he told me, “Mr. Sanchez drove back himself. He took Secretary Cox with him. They're passing some tourist spot on the way, so the two of them are stopping to spend a couple days there. He even put in for time off.”

He paused, sounding like he hated having to say the next part.

“He also said……you should buy your own train ticket back.”

“Got it.”

I moved to put on my shoes, and a searing pain shot through my foot.

I pulled the shoe off. Someone had put thumbtacks inside it. Several of them.

One had already driven deep into the sole of my foot, and blood was seeping out.

I needed to get to a hospital.

That was when Marian sent me a video.

She was standing in front of the Disney castle in a princess dress, holding up a Mickey-shaped ice cream bar, smiling into the camera.

“Georgina! Look, I'm already at Disney getting my photos. Have you made it back to the office yet?”

She brought the ice cream to her lips and took a bite, tilting her head. “Oh, I almost forgot.”

“Those thumbtacks that accidentally ended up in your shoes—did they go through your feet? Are you lying in a hospital bed right now?”

She blinked.

“Aw, that's really too bad. How could you be so careless? You don't even check your shoes before you put them on?”

She let out a little laugh.

“Georgina, you told me once, ‘The only people who can destroy a marriage are the two people in it. No outsider has that kind of power.’”

“I didn't argue with you at the time because I didn't want to embarrass you in front of all those people.”

“But now I want to tell you—you were wrong.”

She crouched down and propped her phone on the stand in front of her.

The camera caught her full figure. White dress, white sneakers, draped in a men's jacket several sizes too large.

“An outsider can be plenty capable.”

“And once an outsider has that kind of capability, the two people inside that marriage won't even know how they died.”

She turned and walked away, took two steps, then glanced back at the camera with a little wave.

“Oh, right. Mr. Sanchez asked me to pass along a message: buy your own train ticket home. Economy class will do. It's not like you're anyone important, right?”

She'd tacked on a string of smug, taunting emojis at the end. My blood boiled.

I turned off the phone, closed my eyes, and let myself imagine exactly how they'd have to go down before I'd feel satisfied.

At the celebration banquet, Brent showed up with Marian at his side.

She blinked at me, all sweet smiles.

“Georgina, aren't you surprised to see us here?”

“Mr. Sanchez and I really owe you for this project. We couldn't have won it without our little warm-up act.”

She leaned into those last words. *Warm-up act.* Let them land.

“Here. Let me toast you.”

I didn't take the glass.

Her hand hung in midair, wine trembling faintly in the stemmed glass. Sensing the awkwardness, Marian let out a soft sigh and put on a wounded expression.

“You don't think my toast is beneath you, do you? Well, I suppose that's fair. Look at who you are, and look at who I am.”

She pulled the glass back and took a delicate sip herself.

“I'll just drink alone, then.”

She ran her tongue across her lips—savoring it, every last drop pure provocation.

“This wine is lovely, by the way. I heard Mr. Sanchez brought it back from France himself. Only two bottles.”

“One was opened tonight to celebrate. The other——”

She paused, letting a sugary smile spread across her face.

“He said he's saving it for when we celebrate later tonight. Just the two of us.”

Brent walked over and clinked his glass against hers. “Marian, a toast to you.”

Every partnership, every contract, every signature on that deal—mine. And the two of them had the shamelessness to waltz in and claim it at the celebration banquet.

But this time, I was going to show every person in that room that Georgina Fox was not someone you could push around.

I let out a cold laugh, turned away, and made a call.

“Tell every investor they have ten minutes to pull their funding. If they don't, they're making an enemy of the Fox family.”

I lifted my gaze slowly and added one more line.

“And of me personally.”