The screen lit up against the nightstand, flashing every few seconds.

When I picked it up, forty-two unread notifications stared back at me.

All of them came from an unsaved number.

The first photo showed Alexander sleeping in an armchair, his tie loosened, his collar unbuttoned. Victoria’s bare arm was draped across his lap, her fingers tangled in his watch band.

The next picture was closer. Victoria smiled at the lens, cheeks flushed, resting her chin on Alexander’s shoulder while he remained asleep.

Then came the text:

*He barely spent twenty minutes in your room before coming back to mine. Guess whose bed he stayed by all night?*

Another message pinged immediately beneath it.

*He told me you’re faking the chest pains because of jealousy. It’s pathetic, Emma. Just let him go.*

My fingers locked around the phone. The physical ache in my chest didn't vanish, but something cold replaced the panic. I set the phone face down, walked to the closet safe, and pulled out the manila envelope I had hidden beneath the legal deeds six months ago.

I walked straight into the adjoining study without knocking.

Alexander sat behind his mahogany desk, reviewing financial reports on his monitor. He looked up, his brow furrowing as he took in the paperwork in my hand.

"You should be resting," he said, not bothering to take off his reading glasses. "The tantrums aren't working anymore, Emma."

I dropped the document right in front of his keyboard.

"Sign it."

He glanced at the bold title on the first page: *Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.*

A dry chuckle slipped from his mouth. He leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his arms. "Is this your newest bid for attention?"

"I want out, Alexander."

"You want out?" He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "On what grounds?"

"Take your pick," I said, my voice dead flat. "Infidelity. Neglect. Emotional cruelty."

"Victoria is recovering from a severe infection," he said, voice dropping to a warning pitch. "I’ve told you ten times. She has no family in this city. Supporting her isn't an affair."

"She sends me pictures of you in her hospital room while she gloats."

"She’s an insecure young woman who feels threatened by your hostility," he countered smoothly. "If you stopped acting like an unstable lunatic, she wouldn't feel the need to defend her place in my life."

I stared at him, stunned into silence.

He didn't blink. He reached forward, grabbed the thick stack of papers, and gripped them in both hands.

With two sharp, tearing sounds, he ripped the divorce filing in half, then into quarters, and dropped the shreds into the wastebasket by his feet.

"What are you doing?" My voice rose.

"Disposing of trash," Alexander replied, adjusting his cuffs. "You’re not divorcing me."

"I will print another copy. I’ll hire my own attorney."

"With what money?" Alexander stood up, towering over the desk. "Every account you access is tied to the Thorne trust. The prenuptial agreement gives me full administrative power over our combined assets during any legal dispute. You won't find a single attorney in this state willing to take a retainer against me."

"You can't keep me trapped here!"

"I'm protecting our family," he said, stepping around the desk until he was inches away. "Look at yourself. You’re pale, shaking, paranoid. You accuse me of neglect, you make baseless accusations, and you hire rogue doctors who shout in public wards. If you push this, I will file for an emergency conservatorship. I will have you legally declared mentally unfit."

A bitter sound broke from my throat. "You would put me in a psychiatric facility to save your reputation?"

"You're not leaving me," he said, his hand clamping around my wrist, tight enough to bruise. "Not like this."

I pulled my arm free with everything I had left. "You disgust me."

I turned on my heel and walked out of the study.

Downstairs, the sharp spasm hit before I reached the front foyer. A blinding flare of agony erupted beneath my sternum, radiating straight into my left shoulder blade. My vision fractured into spots. I grabbed the hall table to keep from crashing down, gasping for air that refused to reach my lungs.

I didn't call for Alexander. I knew what he would say.

I took the keys to the secondary sedan from the key drawer, stumbled into the garage, and drove myself through the gates.

The emergency department at County General smelled of bleach and floor wax. By the time I staggered to the triage desk, cold sweat soaked my collar.

"I need help," I wheezed, gripping the high counter. "Severe chest pain... cardiac history... Dr. Meyer was my physician..."

The triage nurse typed quickly, glancing up at my pale face. "Name?"

"Emma Thorne."

Her fingers froze over the keyboard. She exchanged a swift look with the charge nurse beside her.

"One moment, Mrs. Thorne."

Ten minutes later, a young resident stepped into the examination cubicle where I sat curled over my knees, rocking against the spasms in my ribs.

"Mrs. Thorne," the resident began, keeping his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his white coat. He didn't even unclip his stethoscope. "We reviewed your chart."

"Please," I begged, tears cutting paths down my face. "The pressure... it feels like my chest is being crushed in a vice. Dr. Meyer had me on IV nitroglycerin and specialized pain blockers—"

"Dr. Meyer was terminated for gross misconduct this morning," the resident cut in, stepping back toward the curtain. "His clinical notes are currently under administrative review by the hospital board."

"What? Why?"

"Mr. Thorne's legal team contacted our department two hours ago," the doctor said, eyes darting to the floor. "He notified us that you are experiencing severe psychosomatic episodes related to marital stress. Without your husband's consent or a full psych evaluation, we cannot administer controlled narcotics."

"He's lying!" I yelled.

"The waiting room is packed, ma'am," the doctor said coldly. "We can offer you oral ibuprofen and a referral to the outpatient behavioral clinic. Otherwise, you'll need to go home."

"I am dying," I whispered.

"You’re having a panic attack, Mrs. Thorne. Good day."

He pulled the curtain shut.

Two hours later, I pulled into the driveway of Sterling House. The sun had completely set, casting long, black shadows across the stone facade. Every muscle in my body throbbed from the ordeal, but my mind was completely numb.

I pushed open the heavy front double doors.

"Archie?" I called out softly.

Silence met me.

Usually, the moment my key turned in the lock, golden paws would scramble over the hardwood. He would charge down the hall, whining with joy, pushing his nose into my knees.

"Archie?"

Nothing moved.

I hurried into the kitchen. His water bowl was bone dry. His food dish had been turned upside down near the pantry.

Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the physical pain in my chest.

"Archie!" I ran into the living room, checking under the sofa, behind the curtains. I ran to the back terrace doors. The deadbolt was unlatched.

Alexander was sitting by the outdoor fire pit, swirling amber whiskey in a lowball glass.

I pushed the glass door open, the night wind whipping around my jacket. "Where is Archie?"

Alexander didn't look up. "Keep your voice down. The neighbors don't need to hear your screaming."

"Where is my dog, Alexander?"

He took a sip of his drink, staring into the flames. "He’s a dog, Emma. He probably ran away."

My heart stopped.

"Archie has never left this yard alone," I said, my voice trembling with fury. "He stays by my side every single second. What did you do to him?"

Alexander set his glass on the stone ledge with a sharp clink. He rose from his chair, his expression darkening as he stepped toward me.

"Are you interrogating me now?" he snapped, his voice sharp with irritation. "You left the back gate unlocked when you snuck out to the hospital like a lunatic. If he ran into the woods, that’s on you."

"You're lying!" I screamed, lunging forward to grab his lapel. "You got rid of him! You did it!"

Alexander caught both of my wrists in an iron grip, twisting them down until I fell to my knees on the cold flagstones.

"Watch your mouth," he snarled, glaring down at me. "You push me one more time, Emma, and you won't like what goes missing next."

He dropped my hands and walked back inside, sliding the glass door shut and clicking the lock into place.

I knelt alone on the freezing patio, my knees scraping against the stone.

"Unlock the control room, Miller."

The security guard shifted his weight by the basement door, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Mr. Thorne told us nobody can touch the archives."

"I sign your paychecks, Miller. Unlock it, or find another job before dawn."

He swallowed hard, tapped his master keycard against the pad, and pushed the heavy metal door ajar.

"Which sector do you need, Mrs. Thorne?"

"Play all the videos," I said, leaning against the server console as the burning pressure in my ribs flared again. "Between five and seven this evening. Run it at double speed."

The monitor flashed to life.

Archie appeared on the south terrace first. He trotted toward the railing, his tail wagging low, sniffing at a fallen leaf.

Then Victoria stepped into the frame.

She glanced toward the double doors, checking both sides of the hallway, before stepping onto the terrace. She reached into her pocket and tossed a treat near the outer ledge.

Archie bounded forward.

Victoria didn't hesitate. She grabbed his hind legs, shoved his hips upward, and hurled him over the stone railing into empty air.

A sickening sound cut through the silence—a muffled thud recorded on the ambient mic, followed by an immediate, choked yelp that cut out instantly.

Miller gripped the edge of the console. "Jesus Christ..."

"Keep playing it," I choked out. The air turned to ash in my throat. "Do not stop the tape."

The camera timestamp jumped forty minutes forward.

Alexander walked through the front doors of the mansion. The indoor camera captured him setting his briefcase on the foyer table.

Victoria was curled on the living room sofa, sobbing hysterically with her face buried in her palms.

Alexander dropped his coat and ran to her side. He pulled her against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. His lips moved against her forehead. The audio feed picked up his voice, low and frantic.

"Tory, I've got you," Alexander murmured on the recording. "What happened? What scared you?"

"The dog..." Victoria wailed, clutching his lapels. "He jumped, Alex! I tried to catch his collar, but he leaped right off the terrace! It was horrible... there was so much blood..."

"It’s not your fault," Alexander whispered, rocking her back and forth, smoothing down her hair. "Listen to me. It was an accident. The mutt was old and clumsy. You don't have to look at it. I’ll have the groundskeeper clean it up."

"I was so terrified," she sobbed. "I thought you would be angry with me."

"Never," Alexander said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You’re safe now. Emma’s neglected that animal for months. It isn't your burden to carry."

The monitor went pitch black as I ripped the flash drive from the USB slot.

"Mrs. Thorne?" Miller took a cautious step backward, his face pale. "What are you going to do?"

"Call a cab," I said. "Right now."

The glass doors of the Sterling Medical Alliance executive tower slid open with a hiss.

The receptionist stood up behind the marble counter. "Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne is in the middle of a board briefing—"

I pushed right past her toward the private executive suite on the top floor.

The mahogany double doors swung inward when I shoved them. Alexander sat on the leather sofa near the floor-to-ceiling windows, reviewing a medical patent portfolio. Victoria sat beside him, sipping chamomile tea from a porcelain cup, her feet tucked beneath a cashmere throw.

Both heads snapped up as I walked in.

"Emma?" Alexander set the folder down, his brows drawing tight. "What are you doing here? I told you to stay in bed."

"Did you?"

"You look dreadful," Victoria chimed in, setting her teacup down with a faint rattle. "Alex, should we call her a nurse? She seems completely unhinged."

I crossed the room in four strides.

Before Victoria could lift her hands to shield herself, I swung my right arm with everything left in my failing body.

The crack of my palm against her cheek echoed off the glass walls.

Victoria shrieked, tumbling sideways across the sofa cushions, clutching her reddening face. "Alex! She hit me!"

"Emma! Stop it!"

Alexander lunged forward, catching my shoulders and shoving me back violently.

My heels caught on the edge of the Persian rug. The floor vanished beneath me. I crashed hard onto the polished wood, the impact jarring my spine and knocking the remaining wind straight out of my chest. Agony ripped through my sternum like lightning.

"Have you lost your mind?" Alexander roared, standing over me with clenched fists. "You come into my office and assault a recovering patient?"

I held the black drive up between trembling fingers. "She threw Archie off the balcony."

Alexander didn't even glance at the drive. "You're delusional."

"Look at the footage!" I screamed, the sound tearing my throat raw. "She lured him to the railing! She shoved him over the edge! He died on the stones below, Alexander! She murdered our dog!"

"Alex, make her stop lying!" Victoria cried from the couch, tears streaming down her bruised cheek. "She's fabricating stories because she hates me! She knows how much I love animals!"

"I saw the tape!" I wheezed, fighting to push myself off the floor. My arms shook so hard they could barely support my weight. "Miller saw it! Put it on your computer right now! Watch what your little angel did!"

"Enough," Alexander barked, his voice dropping into a register of icy disgust. "Archie fell because you left the terrace doors unlocked. You’ve been neglecting him just like you neglect everything else."

"She threw him!"

"You're sick, Emma." He looked down at me. "You poisoned your own head with jealousy, and now you’re seeing conspiracies everywhere. You want an excuse to attack Victoria."

A broken laugh tore out of my mouth. "She threw our dog thirty feet down onto concrete!"

"Shut up," Alexander snapped. He turned toward the executive intercom on the wall and punched the security override. "Security. Now."

"Alexander, please," I rasped, tears finally breaking through my vision. "Look at what she did."

"I am not indulging your psychotic episodes," he said coldly.

The office doors banged open. Two security guards rushed into the room.

"Get her out," Alexander commanded, pointing down at me. "Remove her from the building immediately."

"Mr. Thorne?" the lead guard hesitated, glancing between me on the floor and Victoria weeping on the couch. "Should we call an ambulance? She looks—"

"I said remove her!" Alexander bellowed. "She’s a lunatic! She doesn't need an ambulance, she needs to be locked!"

Hands grabbed under my armpits, hoisting me up roughly. My toes dragged across the hardwood as they hauled me toward the doorway.

"Look at the drive!" I shouted, the flash drive slipping from my fingers and clattering across the floorboards. "Alexander!"

Victoria watched from the sofa, the damp tears still shimmering on her cheeks. As the guards dragged me past the doorway, the corner of her mouth twitched upward into a razor-thin smile.

They shoved me through the elevator, across the polished lobby, and out through the glass turnstiles.

"Don't come back, Mrs. Thorne," the guard grunted, releasing his grip.

I stumbled forward onto the wide concrete plaza outside the headquarters. The midday sun beat down against the gray stone tiles, blinding and suffocating.

A sudden, sharp tearing sensation erupted beneath my left ribs.

It didn't feel like a spasm anymore. It felt as if a vital wire inside my chest had simply snapped.

My knees folded under me.

"Alexander..." I whispered, reaching toward the sky, but only empty air filled my palms.

The concrete rose up to meet my face.

Darkness swarmed the edges of my sight as pedestrians began to shout in the distance, their frantic voices fading into a single, high-pitched drone.

Through the dimming light, a sleek black sedan screeched to a halt at the edge of the plaza curb, its rear door flying open.