Chapter 3

The viewer count in the corner of the screen showed only five people. Corinna did not say a word.

She reached off-camera and grabbed a heavy Cartier diamond necklace. She tossed it onto the mattress right in front of the lens.

The heavy metal and stones hit the fabric with a loud, distinct clink. The diamonds caught the harsh ring light, throwing blinding sparks across the screen.

She picked up a thick black marker and wrote a number on a small whiteboard. It was exactly thirty percent of the retail price.

The chat box started moving. A few users typed out messages accusing her of selling cheap knockoffs.

Corinna let out a short, cold laugh.

She reached into a drawer and pulled out the thick, embossed certificate of authenticity. It bore the unmistakable watermark of the Warner family's private jeweler. She shoved the paper directly into the camera lens, holding it steady so the serial numbers were crystal clear.

The viewer count exploded. It jumped from five to five hundred, then to five thousand in less than a minute.

Wealthy buyers and luxury resellers flooded the chat.

The Cartier necklace sold in exactly three minutes. The sharp ping of a successful wire transfer echoed through the silent bedroom.

Corinna did not pause to celebrate. She turned back to the closet.

She grabbed ten limited-edition seasonal gowns. The price tags were still attached. She dragged them out and dumped them onto the bed like a pile of dirty laundry.

The chat scrolled so fast it was a blur. Someone typed in all caps, pointing out that one of the dresses was a custom piece made exclusively for a top-tier socialite. People started guessing her identity.

Corinna ignored every single question.

She spoke for the first time. Her voice was rapid, clipped, and devoid of emotion. But the words she spoke were sharp and analytical. She held up an Elie Saab dress to the camera. "This piece features three thousand hand-sewn Swarovski crystals, taking over eight hundred hours of atelier work. Holland bought it because he thought it was shiny. But its true value lies in the three-dimensional structural tailoring at the shoulders, a technique only three artisans globally can execute flawlessly. Size two. Fifty percent off." She moved like a machine, her hidden expertise bleeding through every cold, professional critique. Every item that represented her fake, suffocating marriage was shoved into shipping boxes.

The balance on her banking app on her second phone ticked upward rapidly.

When the number finally crossed five hundred thousand dollars, Corinna reached out and tapped the screen. She ended the live stream instantly, cutting off thousands of prying eyes.

She untied the black lace mask and let it drop to the floor. She let out a long, shaky breath.

She immediately opened her banking app and wired the entire five hundred thousand dollars directly to the Mount Sinai Hospital billing department.

Five minutes later, an automated email popped up on her screen confirming the receipt of funds.

The massive, crushing weight that had been sitting on her chest for three years finally shattered.

She walked to the back of the closet and pulled out a battered black suitcase. It was the only thing she had brought with her when she moved into this house.

She opened it on the floor. She bypassed all the designer clothes. She packed three old, pilling sweaters, a pair of faded jeans, and a thick folder of her old design sketches.

She zipped the suitcase shut.

She walked over to her mahogany writing desk. She opened the top drawer and pulled out a thick stack of papers.

It was a divorce agreement. She had drafted it a year ago but never had the courage to use it.

She pulled the cap off her fountain pen. She flipped to the last page and signed her name on the line marked 'Wife'. Her hand did not shake at all.

Downstairs, the low hum of a car engine cut through the silence. The headlights of a Maybach swept across the bedroom window. Her phone buzzed silently on the vanity. It was an automated alert from the estate's security system. A 'massive unauthorized asset transfer' had been flagged due to the volume of luxury goods leaving the property, sending a direct ping to Holland's phone.

Corinna's heart skipped a single beat, but the panic was gone. Only a freezing calm remained.

She placed the signed divorce agreement dead center on the empty mattress.

Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed on the hardwood stairs. The bedroom door swung open.

Holland stood in the doorway. A blast of cold air and the sharp smell of whiskey rolled off his expensive suit.

He looked at the empty hangers scattered on the floor, the shipping boxes, and finally, the battered suitcase standing next to Corinna. His brow furrowed in deep annoyance.

"Are you throwing another tantrum?" Holland asked. He pulled at his silk tie, loosening it, and tossed it onto an armchair. "Clean this mess up immediately."

Corinna did not lower her eyes. She did not apologize. She wrapped her fingers around the handle of her suitcase and stared at him.

Holland stopped. He noticed the absolute deadness in her eyes. His gaze drifted past her and landed on the papers resting on the bed.

He walked over and looked down. The words DIVORCE SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT were printed in bold black ink.

His pupils contracted sharply. The annoyance on his face twisted into a dark, ugly scowl.

"Is this a joke?" Holland sneered. He picked up the paper. "Are you trying to squeeze more money out of the trust fund with this pathetic threat?"

"I am leaving with nothing," Corinna said. Her voice was completely flat. "My lawyer will contact yours tomorrow."

She pulled her suitcase and walked toward the door, passing right by him.

Holland spun around and grabbed her wrist. His grip was brutal, his fingers digging painfully into her bone.

Corinna stopped. She slowly turned her head and looked at his hand, then up at his face.

There was no anger in her expression. There was no sadness. She looked at him as if he were a complete stranger standing in her way.

The absolute emptiness in her stare made a cold shiver run down Holland's spine. His fingers loosened involuntarily.

Corinna pulled her arm free.

She walked out of the room. The plastic wheels of her suitcase clicked rhythmically against the floorboards, growing fainter and fainter.

The heavy front door slammed shut, echoing through the empty house.