I sat at my desk for exactly ten minutes.

I didn't move. Didn't check my phone. I just sat there in the silence of my office, hands folded on the polished wood, breathing in and out.

Then I picked up the phone.

Diana answered on the first ring. "I saw the news about the café," she said. "Are you—"

"Accelerate everything," I said. "I want every Wallace asset out of Lynch Enterprises by end of week. No exceptions."

"Selene, that's—"

"Possible," I finished. "I know it's possible because you're the one doing it."

A pause. Then: "I'll make it happen."

I hung up and dialed my sister.

Margot picked up after three rings. "I heard," she said immediately. "Cassie texted me. She said Harlow hit you in public and Collin—"

"You were right," I said. My voice came out steady. Flat. "It's done."

Silence on the other end. Margot never did silence. She always had something to say, usually something sharp and true that I didn't want to hear.

But now she was quiet.

"What do you need?" she asked finally.

"Be at The Plaza in forty-eight hours," I said. "Front row."

"I'll be there."

I ended the call and set my phone down.

The city stretched out beyond my window, all steel and glass and indifferent light. I looked at it for a long time.

Then I started making lists.

The press conference was set for Thursday at noon.

I wore white. Not ivory, not cream — white. A tailored suit with clean lines and no jewelry except the watch my father gave me when I graduated college. My hair was pulled back. My makeup was flawless. I looked like exactly what I was: a woman who had made a decision and would not be explaining it twice.

The Plaza ballroom was packed. Cameras lined the back wall. Reporters filled the front rows. I saw Margot near the aisle, her face carefully neutral. I saw faces I recognized from a hundred charity dinners and corporate events, all of them leaning forward, hungry.

I stepped up to the podium.

The room went silent.

"Thank you all for coming," I said. My voice carried easily. I'd practiced this once, alone in my apartment at two in the morning, and then never again. "I'm here to announce that Collin Lynch and I have mutually agreed to end our engagement."

A ripple went through the room. Phones came out. Cameras clicked.

I kept my face smooth.

"This decision reflects irreconcilable personal differences that became clear over time," I continued. "I take full responsibility for my part in the dissolution of this relationship. Collin Lynch is a remarkable man and a brilliant businessman, and I wish him every happiness going forward."

I smiled.

It was small and polite and gave them absolutely nothing.

"I won't be taking questions," I said. "Thank you."

I stepped down and walked out through the side door while the room erupted behind me.

Margot caught up with me in the hallway. She didn't say anything. She just handed me my coat and walked beside me to the car.

When we were inside, doors closed, city moving past the windows, she finally spoke.

"You just set Manhattan on fire," she said.

"Good," I said.

Collin called seventeen times that afternoon.

I didn't answer.

I went home. I took a shower. I stood under the water until it ran cold and my skin was numb. Then I got out, dried off, and opened my closet.

I had bought the dress three months ago and never worn it. It was crimson silk, cut like a weapon — elegant, devastating, impossible to ignore. I had looked at it on the hanger and thought *someday.*

Today was someday.

The gala started at eight.

I arrived at eight-forty-five.

The Metropolitan Club was all marble columns and vaulted ceilings and the kind of old money that didn't need to announce itself. I walked in alone. No date. No entourage. Just me in that red dress and the sudden, absolute certainty that I had spent three years being invisible and I was done.

Heads turned.

I smiled and kept walking.

Ryland Turner found me at the champagne table.

"Selene Wallace," he said, appearing at my elbow with two flutes and an easy grin. "I was hoping you'd be here."

I took the glass he offered. "Were you."

"I was." He tilted his head slightly, studying me with open curiosity. "That was quite a press conference."

"It needed to be done."

"Clearly." He raised his glass. "To things that need to be done."

I clinked my glass against his. "And to doing them well."

We talked. About London, about his family's auction houses, about a ruby necklace his great-grandmother wore to the coronation. He made me laugh — actually laugh, the kind that comes from your chest and surprises you.

I'd forgotten what that felt like.

Across the ballroom, I saw Collin.

He was standing near the bar, a whiskey in his hand, watching me. His face was unreadable. His jaw was tight.

I met his eyes for exactly one second.

Then I turned back to Ryland and smiled.

"Tell me about the coronation," I said.

Ryland leaned in, his voice warm and low, and I listened.

I didn't look at Collin again.

But I felt his eyes on me for the rest of the night.

When I finally glanced toward the bar an hour later, he was gone. His glass sat abandoned on the counter, ice melting into nothing.

Collin set his glass down on the bar.

I saw him do it. I was mid-sentence, telling Ryland about a gallery opening in Chelsea, and I saw Collin's hand release the whiskey tumbler and start moving through the crowd toward us.

Ryland was saying something about a Rothko he'd acquired last year. I kept my eyes on him and nodded.

Collin arrived at my shoulder.

"Selene," he said.

I turned. Slowly. "Collin."

He looked at Ryland. Then at me. Then his hand came to rest at the small of my back — light, familiar, possessive.

I stepped sideways. Just half a step. Just enough.

His hand fell away.

"I don't believe we've met," Collin said to Ryland. His voice was smooth. Too smooth.

Ryland extended his hand with easy confidence. "Ryland Turner."

"Collin Lynch." They shook. Collin's grip lasted a beat too long.

"Ryland runs the Turner auction houses," I said. My tone was pleasant. Professional. The tone you'd use with someone you barely remembered. "We were just discussing his collection."

Collin's jaw tightened. "I see."

Ryland smiled. "Selene was telling me about a gallery in Chelsea. You're familiar with it?"

"No," Collin said. He wasn't looking at Ryland anymore. He was looking at me.

I met his eyes. I felt nothing.

"If you'll excuse me," Collin said finally. He turned and walked away without another word.

I watched him go. Watched him push through the crowd toward the exit, his shoulders rigid, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

Ryland took a sip of champagne. "Old friend?"

"Something like that," I said.

We kept talking.

I stayed until eleven. I said my goodbyes. I collected my coat and walked out into the rain.

Bentley was waiting at the curb. He'd come to the gala briefly, made his rounds, and left early to finalize paperwork on the partnership we'd been negotiating for weeks. Now he stood beside a black sedan, collar turned up against the drizzle, scrolling through his phone.

He looked up when I approached. "How was it?"

"Productive," I said.

He opened the door for me. I slid into the back seat. He went around and got in beside me.

The driver pulled into traffic.

Midtown at night was all headlights and brake lights and the hiss of tires on wet asphalt. I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes.

"You okay?" Bentley asked.

I opened my eyes. "I'm fine."

He studied me for a moment. Then nodded. "The contracts are signed. We're officially partners."

"Good."

We turned onto 57th Street. The rain was coming down harder now, drumming against the roof. The driver slowed at a yellow light.

I looked out the window at the city blurring past.

I thought about nothing.

Then the world exploded.

The impact came from the right — a massive, unstoppable force that lifted the car and threw it sideways. Glass shattered. Metal screamed. My body slammed against something hard and then I was weightless, spinning, and then I wasn't.

Everything stopped.

I couldn't breathe.

There was pressure on my chest. Something sharp in my side. The taste of copper in my mouth.

I heard Bentley's voice, distant and muffled. "Selene. Selene, can you hear me?"

I tried to answer. Nothing came out.

I turned my head. Slowly. The world tilted and blurred. I saw shattered glass everywhere. The door was crumpled inward. Something warm was spreading across my lap.

Blood.

Mine.

I couldn't feel my legs.

Bentley was leaning over me, his face pale, his hands pressing something against my side. "Stay with me," he was saying. "Stay with me, Selene."

I tried to nod.

My phone was on the floor. Cracked screen, still glowing.

I reached for it.

My hand barely moved. My fingers felt like they belonged to someone else. I stretched. Strained. Touched the edge of the phone and dragged it toward me.

Bentley was yelling something. At the driver. At someone outside.

I unlocked the phone. My vision was narrowing. Everything was getting darker at the edges.

I found Collin's number.

I pressed call.

It rang once. Twice.

Pick up.

Please.

Three times.

Then a voice. Not his.

"Hello?" Harlow said. Her tone was light. Curious.

I tried to speak. My voice came out as a rasp. "Collin—"

"Oh, Selene." She sighed. I heard rustling. Movement. Then her voice again, quieter now, almost amused. "You know, this is getting a little desperate. Calling him at this hour? Really?"

"Please—" I whispered.

More rustling. Then Collin's voice in the background. "Who is it?"

"It's Selene," Harlow said. I heard the smile in her voice. "She's calling you. Again."

A pause.

Then Collin's voice, closer now. He must have taken the phone.

"Selene." He sounded tired. Annoyed. "If you're going to put on a show, at least make it convincing."

I tried to say his name. I tried to tell him.

Nothing came out but a sob.

"I'm done with this," he said.

The line went dead.

The phone slipped from my fingers.

I heard sirens. Distant. Growing closer.

Bentley was still talking. His hands were still pressing against my side.

I looked up at the roof of the car. At the rain streaking across what was left of the windows.

I thought about the red dress.

I thought about Ryland's laugh.

I thought about nothing.

The darkness at the edges rushed in.

And everything went black.