By nine the next morning, I had stopped counting notifications.

#SilvercrestEngagementCrisis was trending in three countries. Someone had clipped the livestream so the ring sat between the microphones for a full eight seconds, set to a sad piano track. It had eleven million views.

Silvercrest's stock didn't crash. It actually ticked up half a point, because apparently investors loved a scandal as long as the hotels stayed open. The pack didn't riot either. Most wolves just shared the clip and picked a side.

Most of them picked Serena's.

She's jealous. Serena was born for the Luna role, and Elara knows it.

Imagine throwing a tantrum on livestream because another woman is better at your job.

Serena's fans had found my old charity gala photos and were circling my face in red, comparing my "forced smile" to Serena's "natural grace." I read every comment with my coffee going cold on the kitchen counter.

Then a gossip site called The Den posted an exclusive.

The headline loaded slowly, line by line.

ELARA HART ADMITTED SHE WAS INSECURE MONTHS AGO.

Below it was a screenshot. My text bubble. My timestamp from last March, 1:47 a.m.

Sometimes I feel like Rowan wants a Luna more than he wants me.

I remembered that night. Rowan had canceled dinner for the third time that week, and I'd sat in my car outside his building, unable to make myself go home. I'd typed that sentence to the one person who had always told me I wasn't crazy.

I didn't need to ask where they'd gotten it.

Only Julian had it.

---

Silvercrest's communications floor went silent when I stepped off the elevator. Six people suddenly found their monitors fascinating.

Julian's office door was half open. He was on the phone, pacing, and he stopped mid-sentence when he saw me.

"I'll call you back," he said, and hung up.

I held my phone up so he could see the screen. I didn't say anything. I just waited.

He closed the door behind me before he spoke. "I didn't send them that one specifically."

"So you sent them others."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "PR needed context. The narrative was getting away from us last night. Everyone was saying Serena came between you and Rowan, that she was the other woman. We had to show this wasn't sudden. That there were problems before her."

"We." I laughed, and it came out wrong. "You gave them screenshots of my private messages."

"A few. Cropped. I told them to be careful with anything personal."

"Julian, it was all personal. I was texting you at two in the morning from a parking garage."

His face tightened. "I know."

"So you protected her by handing the press the worst night I had last year."

"That's not what I was doing. I was never trying to hurt you." He stepped closer, lowering his voice like the walls had ears, and maybe they did. "My job is to protect Silvercrest's image. If the story becomes Rowan cheated with the new Luna Ambassador, the international launch dies. Investors pull out. People lose jobs."

"And what am I?"

He blinked. "What?"

"To Silvercrest." I kept my voice even. "You protect its image. You protect Rowan. You protect Serena. So what am I to Silvercrest, Julian? Tell me, because I'd really like to know."

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Ten years of friendship, and he couldn't find one word. I watched him try, watched him glance at the phone on his desk like the answer might be in his inbox.

"That's what I thought," I said, and walked out.

My phone buzzed before the elevator doors had even closed. Kieran.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Leaving Julian's office."

"Good. Go home. Don't come to the strategy meeting this afternoon, or any meeting this week. There are reporters camped at both entrances, and every time you show your face, it becomes the story."

"Fine."

"One more thing." He paused, and I recognized the pause. It was the one he used right before asking for something he knew I'd hate. "I need you to send Serena the full MOONHOUSE file. Every partnership document, the term sheets, the contact list, your notes on the founder. All of it by tonight."

The elevator dinged. I didn't get out.

"No."

"Elara."

"MOONHOUSE took eight months. Nobody else at Hart Holdings could even get them to answer an email. I'm not packaging that up so Serena can walk into the final meeting and read my notes out loud."

"She's the public lead now. She needs the materials."

"Then she can do the work to earn them."

The silence on the line changed. When Kieran spoke again, his voice was low and flat, the voice he'd never once used on me.

"Don't bring your personal feelings into business."

The elevator doors started to close. I stuck my hand out to stop them, and they slid back open with a rattle.

"You put another woman into my project," I said. "That's business. But if I refuse to do her job for her, that's personal feelings?"

"You're twisting this."

"No, Kieran. I'm just saying it out loud."

"You have until tonight," he said, and hung up.

---

I didn't send the file.

By ten that night, I was curled on the couch in my hotel suite in an old Silvercrest hoodie I should have thrown out, the TV muted on a news anchor mouthing my name. My phone rang again.

Asher.

I almost let it go to voicemail. Then I thought about the summer we spent on his parents' porch, a laptop between us, him arguing with me about margins until we both fell asleep. If anyone was going to hear me out, it was him.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey. How are you holding up?"

The softness in his voice made my throat sting. "Honestly? Julian gave the press my texts. Kieran wants me to hand Serena everything I built. I feel like I'm losing my mind."

"I saw." He hesitated. "El, can I say something without you getting upset?"

My grip on the phone tightened. "That's usually a bad start."

"You've always done this."

I sat up. "Done what?"

"Cut people off. In college, every time you felt ignored, you'd just disappear. No warning. One day we were fine, and the next you'd stopped answering my calls." He exhaled. "I get that last night hurt. But taking off the ring on livestream, refusing to cooperate with Kieran... maybe don't burn everything down because you're hurt."

For a second, I couldn't hear anything but the hum of my refrigerator.

Six years ago, I had waited outside his dorm for two hours on my birthday while he was at a party with his lab group, the same week he forgot our anniversary and canceled our trip home. I'd ended things in a calm, careful conversation that I'd rehearsed for days so I wouldn't cry.

And all this time, he'd remembered it as me being too sensitive.

"Is that what you think happened with us?" I asked.

"I think you get scared and you run. And I don't want to watch you do it to your whole life."

I didn't argue. There was no point explaining a wound to the person who still couldn't see he'd made it.

"Goodnight, Asher."

"El, wait..."

I ended the call and set the phone face down on the cushion.

Then I pulled my laptop onto my knees.

There was a login page I had bookmarked a year ago and never once opened. The account had been set up by my lawyer, the password sealed in an envelope at the back of my desk drawer. I'd told myself I'd use it when the time was right.

I typed it from memory.

The screen loaded slowly, a dark blue dashboard with a crescent-moon logo in the corner.

MOONHOUSE. Founder Access.

Hart's general counsel knew I was the founder and had kept me out of Hart's pricing and approval decisions from the start. My identity stayed confidential under the founder NDA.

There was only one unread item in the inbox, flagged urgent, sent that afternoon.

SILVERCREST HOTEL GROUP: REQUESTING FINAL FOUNDER MEETING.

Underneath it, in the contact field, they'd listed their new representative.

Serena Vale, Luna Ambassador.

I stared at her name for a long moment. Then I moved the cursor to the bottom of the message, past the polite paragraphs Julian had probably written for her, and clicked.

DECLINE.

Rowan's voicemail was waiting for me when I woke up on the third day.

"MOONHOUSE turned us down again." His voice was clipped, the background full of office noise. "Their investor won't even take a call now. They saw the livestream, Elara. They saw the ring. Nobody wants to partner with a company that looks unstable, and right now that's exactly how we look." A pause. "I know you're upset. I get it. But your little outburst has real consequences. Call me back when you're ready to be an adult about this."

I listened to it twice, sitting on the edge of my hotel bed.

He thought MOONHOUSE was rejecting Silvercrest because of bad press. He thought I'd made a scene, and the market had punished him for it.

Six years together, and he had no idea who had actually clicked Decline.

I didn't call him back. I called a moving company instead.

---

The penthouse was on the forty-second floor of the Silvercrest Residences, a glass corner unit Rowan and I had chosen together the week he proposed. My key card still worked. Part of me had expected it wouldn't.

The door swung open, and I stopped in the entryway.

Wolves don't need to see much to know who's been in a room. The scent hit me before I'd even set my bag down. Jasmine, warm vanilla, and something sweeter underneath it.

Serena.

It wasn't faint, either. It wasn't the kind of trace that clings to a coat sleeve after a handshake. It was fresh, and it got stronger as I crossed the living room.

It didn't stop in the kitchen or near the couch.

It led straight to the bedroom.

The door was open. Rowan stood by the window in a white dress shirt, cuffs undone, frowning at his phone. He looked up, and his face went blank in that careful way it did when he was calculating how bad something was going to be.

"Elara. You didn't say you were coming."

"I didn't think I needed to."

Before he could answer, the walk-in closet door slid open.

Serena stepped out in a fitted navy dress, her hair pinned up, a makeup brush tucked behind one ear. In her hand was a silk tie, deep burgundy with a thin silver stripe.

I knew that tie. I'd bought it for Rowan's birthday in Milan.

She froze when she saw me. "Oh. Elara. Hi."

Nobody said anything for a moment. Serena's eyes darted to Rowan, and Rowan sighed like I'd walked in on something boring.

"There's an investor dinner tonight," he said. "Serena and I are attending together. If we arrive separately, the press will spin it into another story. So I asked her to come here and get ready. One car, one entrance, one set of photos."

"In our bedroom."

"The stylist set up in the closet. The lighting's better."

I looked at the brush behind Serena's ear, at the open garment bag on our bed. "The hotel doesn't have a dressing room?"

His jaw tightened. I watched the patience drain out of him.

"It's just convenient, Elara. Not everything is a conspiracy. You've questioned every single small thing for three days straight."

"Small things," I repeated.

"I can go," Serena said quickly. She took a step toward the door, voice soft, eyes wide. "Really. I don't want to cause any more trouble. I'll finish getting ready somewhere else."

She didn't put the tie down. Her fingers stayed curled around it, holding it against her dress like it already belonged to her.

I looked at that tie for a long time.

And suddenly, I didn't want to fight anymore. Not with her, not with him. It felt like trying to argue with the weather.

"Stay," I said. "I won't be long."

I walked past her into the closet.

The stylist's ring light was still on, glaring over a vanity crowded with Serena's palettes. My side of the closet was untouched. Silk blouses, work blazers, the gray coat I wore every winter. I pulled down the empty suitcases from the top shelf, unzipped the first one on the floor, and started folding.

For a minute, there was only the sound of hangers sliding along the rail.

Then Rowan appeared in the doorway.

"What are you doing?"

I kept folding.

"Elara." He came closer, and for the first time, I heard something unsteady in his voice. "How long are you going to keep this up?"

I stopped, a cream sweater still in my hands.

"I'm moving out."

He stared at me. Then he laughed, short and disbelieving. "I never said the engagement was off."

"I did."

The laugh died.

He looked at me the way people look at a step that isn't there. I realized then that he'd never taken the ring seriously. He'd thought it was a performance, a bad night in front of cameras that I would apologize for once I calmed down. He'd probably already planned the joint statement.

"You're serious," he said.

"I left my ring on a table in front of eleven million people, Rowan. What did you think that meant?"

He didn't answer. I went back to packing.

---

By the time I'd filled three suitcases, the apartment wasn't empty anymore.

Kieran came first, still in his overcoat, phone pressed to his ear. Julian followed ten minutes later with a garment bag over his arm and a tablet in his hand, clearly there to manage the dinner. Then Asher arrived in a tux, because of course he was a guest speaker tonight.

Rowan must have texted all three of them.

They stood in the living room while I rolled the suitcases out one by one. Serena hovered near the kitchen island, the burgundy tie now draped neatly over the back of a chair.

The same four men. The same room. Different decorations.

Kieran spoke first. "El, I'm not getting in the middle of you and Rowan. But the hotel project can't take another hit. Whatever you're feeling, keep it separate from business."

"Noted."

Julian stepped forward, scrolling something on his tablet. "There are photographers in the lobby. If anyone sees you wheeling luggage out of here three hours before the dinner, it's tomorrow's headline. Could you at least wait until tomorrow morning? Please."

"So I should sneak out of my own home."

"I'm asking you to be smart."

Asher was quieter. He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, watching me like he was sad on my behalf. "You're going to regret this, El. Maybe not tonight. But someday you'll look back and wish you hadn't made it so final."

I turned to Rowan last.

He'd buttoned his cuffs. He looked like himself again, composed and expensive. He studied me for a moment, then said the only thing he seemed to have left.

"Take a week."

That was it. Not stay. Not I'm sorry. Just a deadline, like I was a project running behind schedule.

I looked at the four of them standing there, a CEO, a PR director, a guest speaker, and a future Alpha, all dressed for a dinner I'd helped plan.

Then I laughed. I couldn't help it.

"Do you all really think," I said, "that once I walk out of here, I'll have nothing?"

Kieran glanced at Julian. Julian looked at his tablet. Asher's mouth opened and closed. Rowan just held my gaze, unreadable.

Nobody answered.

That told me everything.

I grabbed the handle of the last suitcase and wheeled it to the door. None of them moved to help, and none of them tried to stop me.

---

The elevator was empty. I watched the doors slide shut on the hallway, on the penthouse, on six years.

Then I reached into the inner pocket of my bag and pulled out a second phone. Matte black, no case, no stickers. None of them had ever seen it.

The screen lit up with a single message.

It was from MOONHOUSE's lead investor.

E., Silvercrest keeps asking for another meeting. What should I tell them?

The floor numbers counted down above the door. Forty. Thirty-nine. Thirty-eight.

I typed with my thumb.

Tell them the founder is unavailable.

I hit send. Then I added one more line.

And prepare the ownership announcement.