Chloe's thumb pressed the power button on the black phone.

The screen lit up, revealing a minimalist interface. There was only one app: a secure contact list.

Her finger didn't hesitate. She tapped the name at the very top.

"Clayton."

The call connected almost instantly. A man's voice, deep and steady, came through the line.

"Chloe? You finally decided to use this phone."

There was an undercurrent of concern in his tone, mixed with the relief of a long-held vigil finally ending.

A sudden sting pricked Chloe's eyes, but she forced the tears back. Her voice was terrifyingly calm.

"Brother, I need you to come get me."

She paused, the next words tasting like ash in her mouth.

"I'm getting a divorce."

Three seconds of absolute silence on the other end. Then, Clayton's voice returned, stripped of all warmth, now as cold and sharp as a surgeon's scalpel.

"Address. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

No questions. No judgment. Just immediate, unconditional support.

Chloe gave him the address and ended the call. She slipped the phone into her handbag, along with her passport and a few personal cards. She took nothing else that belonged to the Rhodes family.

She grabbed the handle of her small suitcase and unlocked the bedroom door.

Downstairs, a family doctor was fussing over the "weak" and "distressed" Ashley. Augustine stood nearby, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. When he saw Chloe descending the stairs with a suitcase in her hand, his expression turned thunderous.

"I warned you not to leave," he said, his voice low and menacing.

Chloe acted as if she hadn't heard him. She walked straight toward the front door, the heels of her boots clicking a sharp, determined rhythm on the marble floor.

Her complete disregard for him ignited his fury. He strode forward and grabbed her wrist, his grip like a steel band.

"How long are you going to keep this up?"

His fingers dug into her flesh, sending a jolt of pain up her arm.

Chloe winced, her brow tightening. She wrenched her arm free from his grasp, her eyes flashing with cold fire.

"Mr. Rhodes, please have some self-respect. By tomorrow, we will be strangers."

Mr. Rhodes.

The formal address was like a needle to his heart. She had always called him Auggie, her voice soft and warm.

As they stood in a tense standoff, the doorbell rang.

The housekeeper looked nervously at Augustine before shuffling to open it.

Standing on the doorstep was a man in a finely tailored overcoat and gold-rimmed glasses. Behind him, parked at the curb, was a black Maybach, a rare sight even in Manhattan's most affluent neighborhoods.

The man's demeanor was calm and scholarly, but the gray eyes behind his lenses were sharp as daggers. His gaze swept over the chaotic scene in the living room, finally settling on Chloe, whose wrist was still red from Augustine's grip.

Clayton Montgomery's expression turned to ice.

He ignored everyone else, walking directly to Chloe. He shrugged off his own expensive coat and draped it over her thin shoulders.

Then, as if brushing away a piece of dirt, he calmly removed Augustine's lingering hand from his sister's arm.

Clayton's voice was soft, for her ears only. "Did he hurt you?"

Chloe shook her head. For the first time that night, a crack appeared in her composure, a hint of vulnerability. "Brother, let's go home."

Augustine stared at the powerful man before him, then at the impossibly expensive car parked outside. A toxic mix of anger and suspicion churned in his gut.

He demanded of Chloe, "Who is he?"

Chloe didn't answer.

Clayton answered for her. He looked at Augustine, his eyes filled with a contempt so profound it was almost pitying. As if he were looking at an insect.

"You don't have the right to know."

With that, he took the suitcase from Chloe's hand, wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, and guided her out of the gilded cage that had suffocated her for three years.

Augustine could only watch, paralyzed, as Chloe got into the Maybach and vanished into the New York night.