Alya walked into the grand foyer. Her face was pale, devoid of makeup. She wore a high-collared silk blouse, buttoned all the way to her throat, despite the warm weather.

Martha, the elderly housekeeper who had been with the family for decades, rushed forward. Her wrinkled face was lined with genuine concern.

"Mrs. Vanderbilt-Sterling, you're home," Martha said warmly, reaching out to take Alya's trench coat.

As Alya handed over the heavy coat, the sleeve of her silk blouse rode up her arm.

The harsh foyer lighting illuminated the dark, finger-shaped bruises wrapping around Alya's pale wrists. The marks were a violent purple, standing out starkly against her skin.

Martha gasped softly. Her eyes darted upward, catching a glimpse of a faint, reddish-purple mark peeking just above Alya's high collar.

Alya quickly yanked her sleeve down, hiding the evidence of Cole's physical dominance.

She offered Martha a tight, reassuring smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm fine, Martha. Could you just bring me a cup of hot chamomile tea?"

"Right away, ma'am," Martha whispered, hurrying toward the kitchen.

Alya walked into the grand, cavernous living room. The expensive modern art and cold marble surfaces made her feel like a stranger in a museum, rather than a wife in her own home.

She sank into the plush, velvet sofa. She pulled her phone from her purse to check for any updates from the hospital.

Instead, she accidentally opened Instagram.

The algorithm placed the newest post right at the top of her feed. It was from Angelle Navarro.

The photo was an artistic, close-up shot. It showed Angelle's bare, toned legs tangled in pristine white hotel sheets, resting casually on the wooden nightstand next to the bed was a man's heavy, expensive watch.

Alya's stomach dropped. She recognized the watch instantly.

It was a custom Rolex Daytona. She had spent months tracking it down and bought it for Cole for their first wedding anniversary. The engraving on the back read: Forever Yours.

Alya took a screenshot of the post. Her thumb hovered over the image.

She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She felt a cold, clinical detachment settle over her brain, freezing her emotions into solid ice.

She opened her messages and forwarded the screenshot to her sister, Haylee.

She typed a single sentence: "Tell the lawyer to expedite the papers. Today."

Haylee replied instantly with a thumbs-up emoji and a follow-up message: "Understood. I'm contacting the lawyer right now. It will be on his desk within the hour."

Two hours later, across the city at Vanderbilt-Sterling Corp, Linden knocked cautiously on the heavy mahogany door of Cole's penthouse office.

Linden held a thick, brown manila envelope in his hands.

"Enter," Cole's voice barked from inside.

Linden stepped in and placed the envelope squarely on Cole's massive desk. "Sir, this just arrived via priority courier. It's a legal document from Hayes Realty's legal team."

Cole frowned. He picked up a silver letter opener and sliced the envelope open.

He pulled out the thick stack of papers. His eyes scanned the bold, capitalized heading on the first page.

PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.

Cole's expression darkened instantly. The air in the office seemed to drop ten degrees.

He gripped the edges of the paper so hard his knuckles turned stark white. The crisp paper crumpled under his immense grip.

Cole slammed his fist onto the mahogany desk. The loud, violent bang made Linden flinch and take a step back.

"She's actually playing this game?" Cole snarled, his voice vibrating with pure, unadulterated rage.

Back at the estate, the front doorbell rang with a sharp chime.

Martha went to answer it. Alya heard the heavy door open, followed by Martha's confused, hesitant voice.

Alya stood up and walked to the archway of the foyer.

She saw Angelle standing on the front porch. The ballerina was wearing oversized Celine sunglasses and a smug, victorious smile.

Before Martha could stop her, Angelle pushed past the elderly woman uninvited. She stepped into the grand foyer, looking around the massive space as if she were inspecting her future property.

Alya crossed her arms. She stood at the base of the grand, sweeping staircase, looking down at the intruder.

"Why are you trespassing in my home?" Alya asked, her voice as cold as the marble beneath her feet.

Angelle smirked. She reached into her designer Birkin bag and pulled out a heavy object.

It was the exact custom Rolex Daytona from the Instagram photo.

Angelle held the watch out by the strap, letting it dangle. She sighed dramatically.

"Cole left this on my nightstand this morning," Angelle claimed, her voice dripping with fake innocence. "I thought I should be a good citizen and return it to his house."

Martha gasped in outrage at the blatant, filthy disrespect. She stepped forward to physically block Angelle, but Alya held up a hand, stopping the housekeeper.

Alya stared at the watch dangling from Angelle's manicured fingers. It was the ultimate, physical symbol of her failed, pathetic marriage.

Angelle took a step closer, lowering her sunglasses slightly.

"Don't be too mad at him, Alya," Angelle whispered, her tone mocking. "He prefers my apartment anyway. He says this house feels like a tomb."

Alya felt a massive surge of anger rise in her chest, threatening to choke her.

But she forced her facial muscles to relax. She molded her face into a mask of absolute, chilling indifference.

Alya refused to reach out and take the watch from Angelle's hand.

"Leave your trash on the console table," Alya instructed, her voice flat and bored.

Angelle's smug smile faltered. She had expected screaming, crying, or a physical fight. Alya's total lack of a breakdown unsettled her.

Angelle dropped the heavy watch onto the marble console table. It landed with a loud, harsh clatter that echoed in the quiet foyer.

Angelle turned on her heel and marched out.

The heavy oak door shut behind her. Alya stood perfectly still, staring at the ticking watch on the table.

Chapter 6 The Bruises and the Watch

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