Chapter 3 3

The elevator doors to the executive floor of Meyers Media slid open with a soft ding.

Anaya stepped out.

The receptionist, a young girl named Sarah who usually greeted Anaya with a sympathetic smile, gasped.

Anaya wasn't wearing her usual uniform-the charcoal gray pencil skirt, the modest silk blouse, the low heels designed to make her shorter than Barrett.

Today, she wore red.

It was a dress she had bought years ago and never worn. Crimson, fitted, with a neckline that was professional but unapologetic. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, a rhythm of war.

"Ms. Rowe?" Sarah stammered. "Mr. Meyers is... he's in a meeting. He said no interruptions."

"I'm not an interruption, Sarah," Anaya said, not breaking stride. "I'm a resignation."

She pushed open the double glass doors to the CEO's office without knocking.

The room was exactly as she remembered. The panoramic view of Manhattan. The modern art. And the two people who had ruined her life.

Barrett was sitting behind his desk, his face thunderous. He was staring at his phone-likely at her text message. He hadn't blocked her access yet; he probably thought it was a childish attempt to negotiate a raise. The arrogance.

Adele Townsend was perched on the edge of his desk, her legs crossed, leaning in close. She was laughing at something, her hand resting possessively on Barrett's shoulder.

The tableau was perfect.

The door slamming against the wall made them both jump.

Barrett looked up. His eyes widened when he saw her. For a second, he looked stunned-by the dress, by the intrusion, by the sheer fire radiating off her. Then, the familiar mask of irritation slammed down.

"Anaya," he barked, standing up. "What the hell is this? You turn off your phone? You send me a childish text? We have a merger to finalize."

Adele straightened up, smoothing her skirt. She gave Anaya a pitying, condescending smile. "Oh, Anaya. We were just talking about you. Barrett was just saying he thinks you might need some time off. You've been working so hard."

"A breakthrough," Anaya repeated, her voice steady and calm. "Not a breakdown."

She walked to the desk. She pulled her building access card and the key to the executive safe from her purse. She dropped them onto the glass surface. Clack. Clack.

"My resignation is effective immediately," Anaya said.

Barrett walked around the desk. He was tall, imposing. He used his physical presence to intimidate, looming over her.

"You can't quit," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You signed a contract. You have a non-compete. And frankly, Anaya, you have nowhere else to go. This job is your life."

"Was," she corrected. She looked up at him. Really looked at him.

He was handsome, devastatingly so. But now, all she saw was the man who would lock her in a room to die. The man who would trade her for a stock price.

"I'm done, Barrett."

Adele let out a soft sigh. "Anaya, dear. I know this must be difficult. It's clear you have... strong feelings for Barrett. But we're all adults here. It would be a shame to let personal emotions derail a promising career."

Jealousy.

Anaya looked at Adele. The woman was beautiful, polished, and rotten to the core.

A laugh bubbled up in Anaya's chest. It started low and erupted into the room, loud and genuine. She laughed until her ribs ached. She laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Barrett and Adele exchanged a look of genuine confusion. They had expected tears. They had expected begging. They didn't know how to handle laughter.

Anaya wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Jealousy?" she said, shaking her head. "Adele, you can have him. You deserve each other. Truly. A matched set."

Adele's smile froze. Her face went rigid.

"Anaya!" Barrett shouted, slamming his hand on the desk.

Anaya turned on her heel. She walked toward the door, her red dress swishing around her legs.

"Wait," Barrett called out, stepping after her.

Adele grabbed his arm. "Darling, let her go. She's clearly unstable."

Anaya paused at the door. She didn't turn around. She spoke to the air, loud and clear.

"Barrett," she said. "Before you sign the final papers... you might want to audit the Townsend logistics subsidiary. Specifically the offshore accounts in the Caymans. Just a friendly tip."

The silence in the room was instantaneous and heavy.

It was the secret that had killed her in the last life. The embezzlement. The fraud Adele was hiding to inflate her company's value before the merger.

Anaya heard Adele's sharp intake of breath.

She opened the door and walked out.

As the elevator doors closed, she saw Barrett pulling his arm away from Adele, a look of suspicion dawning on his face.

Anaya stepped out into the lobby and out of the building. The sun hit her face. She took a deep breath. The air tasted like exhaust and hot asphalt, but to her, it tasted like freedom.

Her phone buzzed in her purse.

She glanced at it. Dad.

Earl Rowe. Calling for money. Just like clockwork.

The old panic flared for a second-the conditioned response to fix everything for everyone. Then, she remembered the plan.

She declined the call.

She raised her hand and hailed a yellow cab.

"Where to, lady?" the driver asked.

"The Hamptons," Anaya said.

She had one last stop before she disappeared. The company retreat was this weekend at Barrett's estate. Her passport and a stash of emergency cash were in the safe in the guest cottage she used to stay in.

She was going to get them. And she was going to burn the bridge so thoroughly that not even ashes would remain.