At my husband's birthday party, he had me hung from a ceiling beam and whipped 30 times for staining his mistress's $30,000 dress. His family laughed and filmed my humiliation, never imagining that one phone call to my five feared brothers would put their entire empire in danger.

Dawn filtered through the sheer silk curtains of the guest bedroom, casting long, pale shadows across the floor.

My body had stiffened entirely during the night. Every movement felt as though hot iron was dragging across my shoulder blades and ribs. Yet I forced myself out of bed. I washed the dried blood from my face, pinned my dark hair back, and pulled on a simple black turtleneck sweater and tailored trousers. I refused to let Adrian Vale see me cowering in bed.

Downstairs, the clinking of porcelain and the murmur of cheerful voices drifted up the curved marble staircase.

They were having breakfast.

I walked down slowly, gripping the polished railing to steady my balance.

In the sunlit conservatory, a lavish spread of eggs Benedict, fresh berries, and mimosa flutes covered the glass table. Eleanor Vale sat at the head, daintily buttering a croissant. Her younger son, Marcus, was lounging in an armchair, scrolling through his phone with a smug grin. And sitting directly beside Adrian, wearing an emerald-green silk robe that belonged to my own trousseau, was Vanessa Crowe.

She was wearing my mother’s vintage sapphire pendant around her neck.

"Oh, look who decided to join the living," Eleanor sneered, setting her cup down with a delicate clatter. "I hope you slept well, Anna. Perhaps a night of reflection has reminded you that insubordination in this household carries consequences."

Vanessa rested her hand casually on Adrian’s thigh. "Adrian, darling, tell her she needs to pack before noon. Her presence is ruining the energy of the house. Plus, I don't think someone who looks like a battered stray should be around when your business associates arrive."

Adrian didn't look up from his newspaper right away. When he did, his jaw was tight, his eyes clouded with lingering irritation. He had spent the night trying to reach his harbor managers, only to find every phone line dead.

"Come here, Anna," Adrian commanded, pointing to a document on the edge of the glass table.

I remained standing at the entrance of the conservatory, three paces away. "No."

Adrian slammed his hand down, rattling the silverware. "I said, come here! This is a non-disclosure agreement and a voluntary waiver of marital assets. You will sign it, you will record a three-minute video apologizing to Vanessa for your unprovoked aggression last night, and you will leave with two suitcases. If you do that, I will overlook the pathetic prank call your cousin tried to pull on me last night."

Marcus chuckled, waving his smartphone. "I've already edited the footage from last night, Anna. Thirty clean cuts. If you don't sign that paper, I send this clip to every society blog in Manhattan. You'll be a laughingstock from Wall Street to Tribeca."

"You should look at the time, Marcus," I said softly.

Marcus frowned. "What?"

"It’s 8:58 a.m.," I said, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner. "My brother Luca is very punctual."

Eleanor rolled her eyes and let out a shrill laugh. "Your brother? That petty mechanic from Brooklyn? Anna, you truly are delusional. Do you think some working-class thugs can scare the Vale family? We built this city’s shipping corridor!"