Chapter 2 Moving House

The fingerprint scanner on the penthouse door chirped.

Welcome home, Mrs. Snyder.

The automated voice was smooth, synthetic, and utterly oblivious to the legal documents signed twenty minutes ago. Dylan pushed the door open.

She kicked off her Jimmy Choos. They hit the wall with a satisfying thud. Her bare feet touched the heated marble floor. For three years, she had walked on eggshells. Now, she dug her toes into the stone, grounding herself.

She went to the master bedroom and dragged three massive Louis Vuitton trunks from the closet. She threw them open on the Persian rug.

Sterling appeared in the doorway. He moved like a shadow, silent and judgmental. He held a tray with a porcelain cup. Chamomile. It was always chamomile when things were "emotional."

Dylan didn't look at him. She was at the closet, pulling down couture gowns. A black velvet Givenchy. A white silk Dior.

She didn't fold them. She balled them up and shoved them into the trunks.

Sterling's left eye twitched. To him, this was desecration. To him, this was a woman unraveling.

"Madam," he said softly. "Mr. Snyder is simply... managing market pressures. This is a temporary arrangement."

Dylan paused. She held a beige cashmere sweater in her hands.It was the color of oatmeal and boredom. Claudius loved it.

She turned to Sterling. She forced the corners of her mouth down.

"Sterling, please. I appreciate your discretion."

She threw the sweater into the trunk with the force of a fastball.

She moved to the jewelry box picked out the diamond studs, the Cartier bracelet, the pieces that were gifted on birthdays. Personal property. Liquid assets.

Sterling watched the empty hangers in the closet sway. He looked like he was watching a funeral.

Dylan walked to the bedside table. She twisted the platinum band on her left ring finger. It was tight. It left an indentation in her skin, a pale ghost of a circle where the sun hadn't touched for years.

She pulled it off dropped it onto the glass top of the nightstand.

Ding.

The sound was high and clear. It was the sound of a shackle hitting the floor.

"I will keep it safe," Sterling whispered. "For when this realignment is concluded."

Dylan looked at him. The urge to laugh was a bubble expanding in her throat. Return? She would rather set herself on fire.

"Thank you, Sterling," she said.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from Zoe. A location pin for Elysium and a photo of a bottle list.

Dylan typed a single emoji: Fire. She locked the screen before Sterling could see.

She zipped the trunks. The sound was a harsh rasp in the quiet room. She grabbed the handles.

"Allow the staff to assist," Sterling started.

"No."

Dylan hoisted the first trunk. She wasn't just a clothes hanger. She did Pilates five times a week, mostly to exhaust herself so she could sleep next to a man who felt like a glacier.

"Adrenaline, Sterling. A side effect of corporate restructuring."

She carried the bags to the elevator. She took one last look at the apartment. It was a museum where she had been the favorite exhibit.

She calculated the rent she had saved. The connections she had made. The settlement that would hit her account in thirty days.

The ROI was acceptable.

Sterling handed her an umbrella at the door.

"The forecast calls for rain, Madam."

Dylan took the umbrella. She gripped it like a sword.

"Goodbye, Sterling."

Inside the descending metal box, Dylan turned to the mirrored wall. She reached into her purse and pulled out a tube of lipstick. Not the pale pink Claudius preferred.

Red. Blood red.

She applied it with surgical precision. She smacked her lips together.

The elevator hit the lobby. Dylan put on her sunglasses. She walked out past the doorman, ignoring the waiting town car, and slid into the back of an Uber that smelled like pine air freshener and freedom.

Upstairs, Sterling held the phone to his ear.

"She has vacated the premises, sir," Sterling said, his voice heavy with misplaced tragedy. "She took only her personal effects. She seems... resolute."