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.