"Divorce me," I said again, my voice trembling but clear. "Please. Just let me go. Let me take my brother and leave. We'll disappear. You'll never see us again."

Carlos stared at me for a beat, the ice in his glass clinking softly. Then, he threw his head back and laughed.

"Divorce me?" he scoffed, stepping closer until I could smell the expensive whiskey on his breath. "Are you sure you can bear to divorce me, Katerina? You? The woman who clung to me like a vine for years after her parents died?"

He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His touch made my skin crawl.

"You have nothing," he whispered. "No money. No family except that thief of a brother. No career. You gave it all up for me. Where would you go? Who would want a broken, barren woman like you?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out his smug face.

God, how did we get here?

It wasn't always like this. Once, he had been the one chasing me.

We met in high school. Our fathers were business partners, building the Rivera empire together. I was the quiet, studious girl who dreamed of art school. Carlos was the golden boy, the heir apparent.

He wasn't even my type. I was in love with a gentle boy named Leo. But Carlos... Carlos was relentless.

He pursued me with a terrifying intensity. Flowers every day. Grand gestures. He charmed my parents, my friends, everyone. When my father fell ill, it was Carlos who stayed by his bedside. It was Carlos who promised to take care of me.

"Marry me, Kat," he had pleaded, on his knees in the rain outside my dorm room. "I will give you the world. I will love you enough for both of us."

And eventually, I fell. I fell hard.

The first five years were a fairy tale. He was attentive, passionate, possessive in a way that felt like protection. We were the power couple of the city. I forgot about art. I forgot about Leo. I became Mrs. Carlos Rivera, the perfect wife.

Then, Luna came back.

Luna. His old friend. His "secretary."

She returned from overseas months ago, looking for a job. Carlos hired her immediately. "She's family," he had said. "She needs help."

At first, it was late nights at the office. Then, missed dinners. Then, the smell of her perfume on his clothes—a cloying, floral scent that made me nauseous.

He stopped touching me. He stopped looking at me. When I got pregnant, he didn't smile. He just asked if it would interfere with the gala season.

And now, here we were. The fairy tale had rotted from the inside out.

"Open your eyes," Carlos commanded.

I opened them. He was still smiling, that cold, predatory smile.

"You don't want a divorce," he said smoothly. "You're just emotional. You're grieving the baby. You're worried about Mateo. You're not thinking clearly."

"I am thinking clearly for the first time in years," I whispered. "You killed our child!" I screamed.

"Enough!"

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me, hard. My head snapped back.

"You will not divorce me," he snarled, his face inches from mine. "Do you hear me? You are a Rivera. You belong to me. If you try to leave, if you try to file papers... I will make sure Mateo never sees the light of day. I will bury him under so many lawsuits and charges he will rot in that cell."

I gasped, the air leaving my lungs. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," he hissed. "I own the judges. I own the police. I own this city. And I own you."

Tears streamed down my face. I was trapped. Completely, utterly trapped.

"Do you..." I choked out, looking into his dark eyes. "Do you even love me anymore? Did you ever?"

Carlos softened slightly. It was a calculated move, a shift in the mask. He brushed a thumb over my wet cheek.

"Of course I do," he lied. "I do everything for us, Katerina. You just need to stop being so... difficult. Be the doting wife I married. Stop asking questions. Stop making accusations."

He leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head, and his lips landed on my jaw. He sighed, annoyed, but didn't force it.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out.

I saw the name on the screen. Luna.

He didn't even try to hide it. He just looked at me, then at the phone.

"I have to take this," he said, stepping back. "It's work."

"Work," I repeated dully. "At ten o'clock at night."

"Business never sleeps, darling," he said, already turning away. He walked toward the door, answering the call with a warmth in his voice that he hadn't shown me in months. "Hey. Yeah, I'm coming. No, she's fine. Just hysterical again."

He paused at the doorway and looked back at me. I was standing in the middle of the room, shivering.

"If you behave," he said, his voice cold again. "If you stop this nonsense about divorce and murder... I'll make a call. I'll get Mateo out on bail. Got it?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

"Good," he said. "I'll be late. Don't wait up."

The front door slammed.

I listened to the roar of his engine as he sped away. To her.

My legs gave out. I sank to the floor, burying my face in my hands. I screamed into the empty house, a raw, guttural sound of pure despair.

I stayed there for an hour, crouched on the rug, until the tears stopped. They had to stop. Crying wouldn't save Mateo.

I crawled to the side table and grabbed my phone. My hands shook so badly I could barely type. I searched for a number I had saved weeks ago, back when I first suspected.

Attorney Davis. Family Law.

I dialed. It rang four times.

"Hello? This is the answering service for—"

"I need to speak to Mr. Davis," I interrupted, my voice cracking. "It's an emergency. Please."

A moment later, a groggy voice came on the line. "This is Davis."

"Mr. Davis," I said, gripping the phone like a lifeline. "This is Katerina Rivera. I want to file for divorce. I want to file for a restraining order. I want full custody of my assets."

Silence.

"Mrs. Rivera?" he asked, suddenly awake. "As in... Carlos Rivera's wife?"

"Yes."

"I... I see." He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Rivera, I'm flattered you called. But... I can't take your case."

"What?" I whispered. "Why? You're the best in the city."

"Exactly," he said, his voice dropping. "And that's why I know better than to go up against Carlos Rivera. He's a major donor to the firm's partners. He has... influence. No one in this town will touch a divorce case against him, Mrs. Rivera. It's career suicide."

"Please," I begged. "He's hurting me. He framed my brother. I have nowhere else to go."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Truly. My advice? Try to work it out. Or leave the state. But legally? You're on your own here."

Click.

The line went dead.

I sat in the waiting room of the fertility clinic, clutching my purse. The doctor had been vague last time. "Severe trauma," he had said. "Scarring." But I needed to know. I needed to know if Carlos had truly taken my future away along with my child.

"Mrs. Rivera?" the receptionist called, her smile polite but strained.

I walked up to the desk. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid there's a problem with your card," she said, sliding the platinum credit card back across the counter. "It's been declined."

My stomach dropped. "Declined? That's impossible. It's a joint account. There's no limit."

"I tried it three times," she said, her voice dropping to a sympathetic whisper. "Maybe you want to call your husband?"

I pulled out my phone and dialed Carlos. Straight to voicemail. I tried again. Voicemail.

"I... I'll come back," I stammered, grabbing the card. Humiliation burned my cheeks as I walked out, the whispers of the other patients following me.

He had cut me off. He was starving me out.

I didn't go home. I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of Rivera Tower. The building that used to be my father's. The building where I had grown up running through the halls.

The lobby was sleek, modern, and cold. The receptionist, a young woman I didn't recognize, looked up with a frown.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see my husband," I said, lifting my chin. "Carlos Rivera."

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked, glancing at her computer.

"I'm his wife," I snapped. "I don't need an appointment."

"Mr. Rivera is in a very important meeting," she said, her tone dismissive. "He left strict instructions not to be disturbed. I can't let you up."

"I'm going up," I said, moving toward the elevators.

Two security guards stepped in front of me, blocking my path. "Ma'am, please. Don't make a scene."

I stared at them. They were new. They didn't know who I was. They didn't know that this building still had secrets.

"Fine," I said, turning on my heel. "I'll wait in the car."

I walked out the main doors, waited for the guards to look away, and then slipped around the side of the building to the service entrance. There was a small, unmarked door near the loading dock. It required a key card—my father's old master key card, which I had kept on my keychain for sentimental reasons.

I swiped it. The light turned green.

I slipped inside and made my way to the private elevator. It was a relic from my father's time, a direct line to the penthouse office that bypassed the main lobby and security. Carlos probably didn't even know it still worked.

The elevator hummed to life, carrying me up forty floors in silence. When the doors opened, I stepped into the private corridor leading to the CEO's office.

The heavy oak door was slightly ajar.

I heard a moan.

I froze.

"Carlos..." a woman's voice whimpered. "Yes... right there..."

My heart hammered against my ribs. I crept closer, my shoes silent on the plush carpet. Through the crack in the door, I saw them.

Luna was bent over my father's mahogany desk, her skirt hiked up to her waist. Carlos was behind her, thrusting into her with a desperation he had never shown me.

"Divorce her," Luna panted, her head thrown back. "Come on, Carlos. She's useless. She's nothing. You have me now."

Carlos grunted, his hands gripping her hips. "You know I can't."

"Why not?" she whined, turning her head to look at him. "You killed the baby for us. You got rid of the brat. Why can't you just leave her?"

I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream. He admitted it. He didn't deny it.

"She is important to the board," Carlos said, his voice rough. "The old guard... my father's investors... they still see her as the heir. They want her name attached to the company. If I divorce her now, the stock will tank. My father will disown me."

"So we have to wait?" Luna pouted.

"Not for long," Carlos said, leaning down to kiss her neck. "Don't worry. The bitch is unstable. She's grieving. Accidents happen to people like that. Soon... she'll be gone. And we'll have it all."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Just play along for now."

He thrust into her again, hard, and she screamed his name.

I backed away. My legs were shaking so badly I thought I would collapse.

I made it out of the building without being seen. I vomited in the alleyway, my body rejecting the horror of what I had just witnessed.

I went home. I ran upstairs to the master bedroom and tore open my jewelry box. The diamond necklace he gave me for our first anniversary. The sapphire earrings for my birthday. The emerald bracelet.

I shoved them all into a bag.

I looked at my left hand. The massive diamond solitaire that had once been the envy of all my friends. I wrenched it off my finger and threw it into the bag.

I drove to a pawn shop on the other side of town, a place where no one would recognize Mrs. Carlos Rivera. I sold everything. I walked out with a hundred thousand dollars in a thick envelope. It was enough to run. But not enough to save Mateo.

I needed help.

I thought of my father's old friends. Mr. Henderson? No, he was on the board. He would tell Carlos. Mrs. Vance? She was a gossip.

I had no one.

I sat in my car, the envelope of cash heavy in my lap. I scrolled through my contacts, desperate.

And then I saw it. A name I hadn't deleted in five years.

Leo.

I remembered hearing through a mutual friend that he had gone to law school after I left him. That he was a shark now. A criminal defense attorney who took on the cases no one else would touch.

I stared at the number. The guilt was a physical weight in my chest. I had broken his heart. I had chosen Carlos and his money and his power over Leo's gentle love.

But I had no choice.

I pressed call.

It rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Hello?"

His voice was deeper than I remembered. Rougher.

"Leo?" I whispered, tears springing to my eyes.

Silence. A long, heavy silence.

"Katerina?" he said finally. His tone was guarded, cold.

"It's me," I said, my voice breaking. "I... I know I have no right to call you. I know I hurt you. But... I'm in trouble, Leo. Bad trouble."

"I saw the news," he said. "About the accident. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't an accident," I said quickly. "Carlos did it. And he framed Mateo. He's going to kill me, Leo. I have no one else."

I heard him sigh on the other end.

"Please," I begged. "If you ever cared about me... if there is even a shred of that love left... can you help me? Can you help me get out of this marriage?"

"Katerina..."

"I'll do anything," I sobbed. "I'll pay you. I have cash. I'll sign whatever you want. Just... please. Help me destroy him."

For two days, I was the perfect, doting wife. I woke up early to make Carlos his espresso. I ironed his shirts until the creases could cut glass. I smiled when he came home late, smelling of her perfume, and asked about his day as if I didn't know he had spent it in bed with his mistress.

"Katerina," Carlos said over breakfast, not looking up from his tablet. "I need you to pick up a gift for the Japanese investors. Something traditional. Maybe a tea set. And have it wrapped. Use your own money for now, I'll reimburse you."

"Of course, darling," I said, forcing a smile. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Stop by the florist. Get two dozen white lilies. Have them sent to the office."

Lilies. My favorite flower. Or they used to be, before I realized he only bought them because they were cheap and looked expensive.

I did as I was told. I bought the tea set. I ordered the flowers. I even wrote a card for the investors, my handwriting steady despite the rage boiling in my veins.

When I arrived at his office to drop off the gifts, the receptionist stopped me. "Mr. Rivera is in a meeting," she said, eyeing the flowers. "I can take those."

I handed them over. As I turned to leave, I saw the delivery boy walking out of the elevator with a massive bouquet of red roses.

"Delivery for Ms. Luna," he announced.

I froze. Red roses. For her. While I was buying lilies for his business partners.

I walked out without a word.

That evening, I was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. The knife rhythmically hit the cutting board—thud, thud, thud. I imagined it was Carlos's neck.

The front door opened.

"Katerina!" Carlos called out. "We're home."

We?

I walked into the foyer, wiping my hands on a towel.

Carlos was carrying Luna in his arms, bridal style. She had a small bandage on her ankle and was clinging to his neck like a frightened child.

"What is this?" I asked, my voice flat.

"She twisted her ankle at the site visit," Carlos said, breathless but not from exertion. He looked at me with a challenge in his eyes. "She can't walk. She needs to stay here for a few days until it heals."

"Here?" I repeated. "In our house?"

"Yes, here," he snapped. "It was my fault. I was rushing her. The least I can do is make sure she's comfortable."

"Does she not have a home?" I asked, looking directly at Luna. "Or a boyfriend? Or anyone else?"

Luna buried her face in Carlos's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Katerina. I didn't want to intrude. But my apartment is a walk-up... four flights of stairs..."

"She stays," Carlos said firmly, carrying her past me toward the guest room. "And she's hungry. Make enough for three."

I watched them go. The audacity was breathtaking. He was moving his mistress into our home, under the guise of an injury, and ordering me to serve her.

"Fine," I whispered to the empty hall. "Whatever you want."

I went back to the kitchen. I added another portion of pasta to the pot. I stirred the sauce. I didn't poison it, though the thought crossed my mind.

When dinner was ready, I set the table. Carlos came down, alone.

"She's resting," he said, sitting at the head of the table. "She feels terrible about imposing."

"I'm sure she does," I said, pouring him wine.

"Look, Katerina," he said, taking a sip. "I know this is... unconventional. But we have a lot of work to do on the merger. Having her here makes it easier."

"Easier for who?" I asked, sitting opposite him.

He ignored the question. "Speaking of the merger... I need you to sign some documents."

He pulled a thick folder from his briefcase and slid it across the table.

"What is this?" I asked, not touching it.

"Transfer of assets," he said casually, cutting into his steak. "Your father's trust. The Rossi holdings. It's time we consolidated everything under Rivera Corp. It will strengthen our position for the merger."

"Those assets are for Mateo," I said, my hand tightening on my fork. "My father left them for him when he turns twenty-five."

"Mateo is in prison," Carlos said, chewing slowly. "He's a felon now, Katerina. He can't manage a trust. And honestly? Who else is going to look after it? Me. I'm the only family you have left who isn't a criminal."

I stared at him. He had framed my brother to steal his inheritance. It was so simple, so evil.

"If I sign these," I said slowly. "Will you help him? Will you get the charges dropped?"

Carlos paused. He looked at me, assessing.

"If you sign those," he said, "I will make a call. I can't promise anything, but... I have pull. Maybe we can get it reduced to a misdemeanor. Probation instead of prison."

It was a lie. I knew it was a lie. But I had to play the game.

"Okay," I said. "I'll do it. For Mateo."

"Good girl," he said, smiling. "And while you're at it... Luna would love some of that soup. Can you bring a tray up to her?"

I looked at the folder. Then at him.

"Sure," I said. "I'll bring it up. Then I'll sign the papers."

I prepared a tray. I walked up the stairs, my legs heavy. I knocked on the guest room door.

"Come in," Luna called out, her voice weak.

I walked in. She was sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows—my pillows. She was wearing one of Carlos's t-shirts.

"Here," I said, setting the tray on the nightstand. "Eat."

"Thank you, Katerina," she said, giving me a pitying look. "You're so kind. I feel awful about this."

"Don't," I said. "Just eat. And get out of my house as soon as you can walk."

I turned and left before she could respond.

I went to the master bedroom. I sat at the desk and opened the folder.

Transfer of Deed. Power of Attorney. Liquidation of Trust.

He wanted everything. Every last cent my father had built.

I picked up a pen. I hovered it over the signature line.

My phone lit up on the desk. A text message.

Unknown Number.

Everything is ready. The papers are drafted. The account is set up. Meet me in three days at the old warehouse on the docks. Midnight. Come alone. - L

"Three days," I whispered. "Just three more days."