Chapter 3

Two days later, the annual Garrett Foundation charity gala was held at the family's sprawling estate on Long Island. It was the society event of the season, a grotesque parade of wealth and feigned benevolence.

Jazmin arrived alone, wearing a blood-red gown that clung to her body like a second skin. As she stepped into the grand ballroom, a wave of whispers followed her, a ripple of morbid curiosity. The story of her "psychotic break" and Adrian's "unfortunate accident" had become the most delicious piece of gossip in their circle.

She felt their stares like physical touches, a mixture of fear and excitement.

Then Adrian made his entrance. His face was still bruised, the faint yellow and purple marks artfully concealed with makeup. On his arm was Melody Vance, looking fragile and angelic in a white dress. They were a carefully constructed portrait of victim and savior. He saw Jazmin, and a surge of pure, humiliated rage overwhelmed him. He didn't care about the consequences; he only knew he had to reassert his power, to make her the villain in front of everyone.

Melody, spotting Jazmin, guided Adrian on a path to intercept her. She "accidentally" stumbled, sloshing the contents of her glass of red wine all over her own white gown.

"Oh my god!" Melody cried out, her voice a pitch-perfect imitation of distress. "Jazmin, how could you?"

All eyes turned to them. Adrian immediately stepped in, playing the part of the protective partner.

"That's enough, Jazmin," he said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. He pulled out a folded report from his jacket pocket. "I didn't want to do this, but you've forced my hand. This is a report from a private investigator. Proof of your infidelity during our marriage."

A collective gasp went through the room. Carlene, standing nearby, fanned the flames. "She's a disgrace! We must nullify the divorce settlement immediately!"

They were waiting for her to scream, to cry, to break down.

Jazmin simply held out her hand. "May I?"

Slightly thrown off, Adrian handed her a copy of the report. She scanned it, her lips curving into a small, humorless smile.

"This is very thorough," she said, her voice carrying easily in the sudden silence. "But you have a problem with your timeline. According to these dates, I was supposedly meeting a lover at the Baccarat Hotel. But my husband," she paused, looking directly at Adrian, "was in Miami that entire week. With Melody. I have the hotel folios, if anyone's interested."

Adrian's face went rigid. Melody's hand tightened on her clutch purse, her knuckles white.

The standoff was broken by the sharp thump-thump of a cane on the marble floor.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea. Eleanor Garrett, the family matriarch, made her way to the center of the room. She was a tiny woman in her eighties, but her presence commanded more authority than everyone else in the room combined. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, swept over Adrian and Melody with undisguised contempt.

She stopped in front of Jazmin. Instead of the expected reprimand, she reached out and took Jazmin's hand.

"Adrian," Eleanor said, her voice like cracking ice. "You would risk the family's reputation and a ten-percent drop in stock value for this... this trinket?"

She turned her hawk-like gaze on Melody. "I remember you, dear. Weren't you the one who left my grandson three years ago for the son of a Russian oligarch? Before the sanctions, of course."

Melody turned sheet-white. Adrian stared at her, his expression a mixture of shock and dawning horror. It was clear he'd never known.

"As long as Jazmin is a Garrett," Eleanor announced to the room, "our stock is stable. Our family image is intact. Therefore, I refuse to recognize the validity of this divorce agreement. It is null and void."

Jazmin pulled her hand away. She understood perfectly. This wasn't about protecting her. It was about protecting the Garrett brand. She was just a pawn, a tool to maintain the illusion of stability.

"I will not stay married to her!" Adrian roared, his composure finally cracking. "I won't touch her!"

"Your trust fund is contingent on the approval of the family board, of which I am the chair," Eleanor said coldly. "Remember that."

Melody, seeing her future prospects evaporating, tried to slip away, but found her path blocked by Arthur, the butler, who stood like a silent, immovable statue.

Jazmin stood in the center of it all, watching them tear each other apart over money and pride. She felt nothing.

Initiate 'Forced Separation' backup protocol, she thought, a silent command to the system only she could perceive.

The party dissolved into a mess of awkward apologies and hasty departures. Jazmin walked out alone, her heels clicking a sharp, decisive rhythm on the polished stone of the driveway.

In the shadows of a large oak tree, Arthur spoke quietly into a communicator hidden in his cufflink. "No emotional fluctuation detected. It's like... she's a machine."

Jazmin slid into her car. As the engine turned over, the dashboard screen flickered to life, displaying not the usual GPS map, but a single, anonymous email.

The subject line was simple: `An Opportunity`.

The message was one sentence.

`You've proven you can break things. Now let's see if you can survive. -M`