The Carlisle townhouse on the Upper East Side was a monument of limestone and silence.

The funeral had ended that afternoon, but Brody never came home.

Alisha drew a warm bath for Zoe, the scent of lavender filling the marble-clad bathroom. She helped her daughter change into soft pajamas and tucked her into bed. Even in sleep, Zoe clutched her sketchbook tightly to her chest.

Once Zoe was settled, Alisha's phone buzzed on the vanity. It was her best friend, Chastity Holland.

"I just heard from my mother who heard from Susan who heard from God-knows-who," Chastity's voice crackled, a rapid-fire assault of righteous indignation. "They're saying you caused a scene at the funeral! Those fucking bastards! Brody’s family is slandering you to anyone who will listen!"

Alisha sank onto the silk ottoman, leaning her head against the cool wall. She closed her eyes and recounted the day's events, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

Chastity's string of curses on the other end was both vile and deeply comforting. "He's a blind, stupid fool, Alisha! And Celestia is a Grade-A bitch! What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, Chas," Alisha whispered, looking out the window at the glittering, indifferent skyline of Manhattan. "For Zoe... I just don't know."

Sleep didn't come. She lay in the vast, empty bed until the first grey light of dawn seeped through the windows.

She was jolted out of her daze by a persistent buzz from her phone. It wasn't a call. It was a Wall Street Journal news alert.

The headline felt like a punch to the gut. Her breath hitched.

Carlisle Foundation Announces Landmark Partnership, Taps Celestia Roman to Helm New Biomedical Division.

Her fingers trembled as she tapped the link. The screen filled with a photo of Brody and Celestia, standing side-by-side at a press conference. They were smiling, a handsome, powerful couple, radiating success.

The article quoted Brody extensively. He praised Celestia as a "visionary leader" with "unparalleled talent" who would bring "new energy" to the foundation.

The biomedical division.

Alisha's blood ran cold.

That was her division.

She had spent the last five years building it from the ground up, helping establish the lab protocols, vetting research proposals, shaping its mission.

It was her passion, the one part of her life in this gilded cage that was truly her own.

And now, he was handing it over to the woman he was sleeping with.

Slowly, Alisha lowered the phone. The screen went dark, and so did her eyes. The pain was sharp, but it quickly faded into a freezing, absolute numbness.

She walked into her study, opened her laptop, and typed a direct address.

The website for Stern & Associates, one of New York's most ruthless divorce law firms, loaded onto the screen. She found the consultation form and typed two words under the case description: Divorce. Custody.

She clicked submit. A profound, unnerving calm washed over her.

Hours passed. As evening fell, the sound of a heavy door opening echoed through the silent house.