Too Late, Mr. Billionaire: You're Nothing Now

The mirror in the master bedroom of the Payne penthouse on Fifth Avenue didn't lie, but it didn't tell the whole truth, either. It reflected a woman in a slate-grey Carolina Herrera gown, the silk perfectly draped over a body that had been disciplined by yoga and stress. Jessye Haley adjusted the neckline, her fingers lingering on the fabric. She looked expensive. She looked appropriate. She looked like a ghost.

The door burst open. Adam Payne didn't knock; he never knocked. He strode into the room, a whirlwind of Tom Ford cologne and aggressive energy, already fastening a platinum cufflink. He didn't look at her. His eyes went straight to the watch cabinet, scanning the rows of Patek Philippes and Audemars Piguets as if he were selecting a weapon for battle.

"We're late," Adam said, his voice flat. "The car has been downstairs for ten minutes."

Jessye turned. "I was waiting for you to finish your call with the board."

"Don't blame my work schedule for your slow pace, Jessye." He finally selected a watch, snapping it onto his wrist. He walked past her toward the full-length mirror, adjusting his bow tie.

Jessye stepped forward, an instinctive habit kicking in. She reached out to fix the slightly crooked knot. "Here, let me-"

Adam flinched. He pulled back sharply, his eyes narrowing in the glass reflection. "Don't touch it. You'll wrinkle the collar."

Her hand froze in mid-air. It was a small rejection, one of a thousand paper cuts she had accumulated over three years, but tonight it stung differently. Perhaps it was the silence of the room, or the way the city lights flickered indifferently outside the window. She lowered her hand.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Just grab my iPad," he said, turning for the door. "And try to smile tonight. Last time you looked like you were attending a funeral. It affects the share price when my wife looks miserable."

The ride to the Metropolitan Museum of Art was a study in isolation. The interior of the Rolls-Royce Phantom was cavernous. Adam sat on the far right, the center armrest down like a border wall. The blue light of his phone illuminated his face, casting harsh shadows under his cheekbones. He was typing furiously. Jessye looked out the window at the blurred streak of New York City. She felt a phantom pressure in her chest, a tightness that had nothing to do with her corset.

When the car pulled up to the red carpet, the flashbulbs exploded like a lightning storm. The noise was a physical wall-shouting photographers, the roar of fans, the chaotic energy of the Manhattan elite.

Adam stepped out first. He buttoned his jacket, and the transformation was instantaneous. The scowl vanished. The distraction evaporated. In its place was the dazzling, charismatic smile of Adam Payne, CEO of Payne Corp, the golden boy of biotech.

Jessye stepped out behind him. She smoothed her dress, waiting for him to offer his arm.

He didn't.

Instead, another car door slammed shut a few yards ahead. A woman in a shimmering gold dress that clung to every curve stepped out. It was Karly Everett. Her dress was a deliberate, striking contrast to Adam's dark suit, yet somehow, they matched. They looked like a set.

"Mr. Payne! Ms. Everett! Over here!" the photographers screamed.

Adam's head snapped toward Karly. His smile widened, becoming genuine. He took two long strides, bypassing Jessye entirely. He greeted Karly with a nod that was professional yet intimately familiar, leaning in to whisper something that made her laugh, while keeping his hands respectfully clasped behind his back to avoid a PR disaster. Yet, the exclusion of his wife was palpable, a cold shoulder colder than the winter air.

Jessye stood by the rear wheel of the Rolls-Royce, the heat from the exhaust warming her ankles. She was invisible. A security guard, a man with a thick neck and a thicker accent, stepped in front of her.

"Back, miss. Talent only on the carpet."

Jessye blinked. "I'm with him," she said, her voice barely audible over the din. She pointed at Adam's retreating back.

The guard looked skeptical. He glanced at her wristband, then at Adam, who was now laughing at something Karly had whispered. Adam didn't look back. Not once. He didn't check to see if she was safe, if she was following, or if she even existed.

"Go around the side," the guard grunted, losing interest.

She walked the perimeter, the humiliation burning under her skin like a fever. Inside the Great Hall, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and massive floral arrangements. Waiters circulated with champagne. Jessye took a glass, her fingers gripping the stem so hard she feared it might snap.

She found a spot near a massive stone pillar, a vantage point where she could observe without being seen. Adam was in his element, holding court with a Senator and two tech moguls. Karly stood beside him, laughing, touching his arm to emphasize her points. They looked like a power couple. Jessye looked like the help.

Then she saw him.

Joshua. Her seven-year-old son, dressed in a miniature tuxedo, was weaving through the crowd. He was supposed to be with the nanny, but they often brought him to the early hour of these events for the "family image" photos.

"Josh," Jessye breathed. Her heart lifted. She took a step forward. "Joshua!"

The boy stopped. He turned his head, scanning the room until his eyes landed on her. For a split second, Jessye expected a smile. She expected him to run to her, to complain about the scratchy collar or ask for a juice.

Instead, his face crumpled into a scowl. It was a mirror image of Adam's expression earlier in the bedroom.

"Josh, come here, baby," she said, crouching down slightly.

Joshua ignored her. His eyes darted past her, lighting up with pure adoration. "Auntie Karly!"

Karly, sensing the moment, turned away from the Senator. She dropped to her knees-disregarding her expensive gown-and opened her arms wide. "There's my favorite boy! Come here, superstar!"

Joshua sprinted past Jessye. The wind of his movement brushed her dress. He launched himself into Karly's arms, burying his face in her neck.

Jessye stood frozen, her hand still half-extended. The rejection was absolute. It was visceral. She felt like she had been punched in the stomach.

She was close enough to hear them. Her hearing had always been acute, a trait from her days in the quiet hum of the laboratory.

"Why is she here?" Joshua whined, his voice muffled by Karly's shoulder but loud enough to carry. "Dad said she wouldn't come. She's embarrassing."

Jessye's breath hitched. Embarrassing. Her own son.

Karly pulled back, smoothing Joshua's hair. Her eyes flicked up, meeting Jessye's gaze. There was no sympathy in them. There was only triumph. A cold, predatory smirk played on her lips.

"Now, now, Josh," Karly cooed, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Be nice to your mother. She tries her best."

She tries her best. It was the ultimate insult, delivered with the tone one uses for a slow-witted pet.

Adam walked over then. He didn't look at the interaction. He didn't see the devastation on Jessye's face. He just saw a logistical problem.

"Jessye," he barked. He thrust his iPad into her hands. "Hold this. I have a private meeting with the investors in the back room. Don't lose it. It has the merger files."

He turned back to Karly and Joshua. "Ready for the photo op, guys?"

"Ready!" Joshua chirped, grabbing Adam's hand with one hand and Karly's with the other.

They walked away toward the flashbulbs. The perfect family. The father, the son, and the woman who should have been the mother.

Jessye stood alone by the pillar, the iPad heavy in her hands. It felt like a stone. She looked down at the screen. It was locked with a biometric scanner and a six-digit pin. Adam relied on standard encryption, arrogant enough to believe the 'housewife' standing by the pillar wouldn't know a backdoor from a baking recipe. But Jessye tilted the screen against the light, noting the faint, oily smear of his thumbprint path. It was a lazy 'L' shape pattern he used for everything.

She didn't guess. She simply traced the residual heat path his finger had left seconds ago.

A notification pinged. The screen lit up.

iMessage - Starry (Karly): Audio Message (14 sec)

Jessye stared at it. Her thumb hovered over the sensor. Her rational mind told her to put it down, to turn away, to maintain the blissful ignorance that had kept her alive for three years. But her heart was already dead.

She unlocked the screen. She tapped play. She held the device to her ear, pressing the volume down so only she could hear.

Adam's voice, low and frustrated, filled her ear. "Just be patient, Karly. You know I can't divorce her yet. The board is skittish. She's a trophy, a prop. A boring, silent prop. But she stabilizes the stock."

Then Karly's voice, laughing. "A prop? Adam, she's a disaster. Josh needs a real mother. Someone who understands our world. She just... exists. It's pathetic."

"I know," Adam replied. "I don't love her. I never did. It was a merger requirement. Once the patent renewal is signed next month, I'll cut her loose. She won't even know what hit her."

The audio ended. The silence that followed was louder than the gala.

Jessye lowered the iPad. The room seemed to tilt. The champagne glass in her other hand slipped, shattering on the marble floor. The sound was sharp, final. A few people turned to look, whispering about the clumsy wife of Adam Payne.

But Jessye didn't hear them. She felt a strange sensation spreading through her chest. It wasn't pain. It wasn't sorrow.

It was clarity. Cold, crystalline clarity.

She looked at the iPad. She looked at the ring on her left hand-a ten-carat diamond that felt like a shackle. She gripped the ring. It was tight, but she pulled. She twisted. It scraped over her knuckle, leaving a red mark, but she didn't stop until it came free.

A passing waiter paused, looking at the broken glass. "Ma'am? Are you alright?"

Jessye placed the iPad on his tray. Then, she placed the diamond ring right on top of the screen.

"I'm better than alright," she said. Her voice was steady. It was the voice of Dr. Jessye Haley, the voice that had once commanded lecture halls in Zurich and labs in Tokyo. "Keep the change."

She reached into her clutch and pulled out a burner phone-a device Adam didn't know existed. She walked toward the exit, her heels clicking a rhythm of war on the floor. She dialed a number she hadn't called in three years.

It rang once.

"This is Claire," a sharp female voice answered.

"Claire," Jessye said, stepping out into the cool night air of Manhattan. The rain had started to fall, but she didn't feel the cold. "Initiate Plan B. I want a divorce."