Chapter 1

The email from the estate manager landed in my inbox with a subject line that made my stomach clench: "URGENT: Unauthorized Use & Damage - Hamptons Property."

I clicked it open.

Attached were photos. My custom-designed garden, the one I' d spent a year planning with a Chelsea Flower Show winner, was trashed.

Flowerbeds trampled, antique urns overturned.

Worse, a rare Brancusi sculpture, a gift from my father, lay in pieces near the pool.

Then I saw the Instagram link. Chloe Miller, Ethan' s secretary.

A nine-photo spread. A pool party at my Hamptons beach house.

She tagged the location. She thanked Ethan, her "boss," for the "generous gift" of the house.

My blood ran cold, then hot.

This wasn't just unauthorized use; this was a deliberate, public slap in the face.

I messaged Ethan immediately. "What the hell is Chloe Miller doing at the Hamptons house? And why is my garden destroyed?"

His reply came a few minutes later.

"Ava, don't be so possessive. It's just a house. We have others. She needed a break."

Just a house.

My family' s house. The one my grandfather built.

"You have three hours," I typed, my fingers tight. "Get her out. Get the damage repaired. Or I will."

He didn't reply. He probably thought I was bluffing.

He didn't know me at all.

I made two calls.

The first was to my family's lawyer. "I'm selling the Hamptons beach house to the family holding company. For one dollar. Effective immediately."

He didn't ask questions. He knew my tone.

The second call was to a specialized vehicle recovery service. "I need a collection of vintage European sports cars moved from a shared property in Greenwich. Indefinite, secure storage. Inaccessible to Mr. Ethan Hayes."

They assured me it would be handled discreetly and swiftly.

Three hours and five minutes later, Ethan called. His voice was a roar.

"Ava! What is the meaning of this? Chloe was just thrown out of the house by some new owners! They said they bought it!"

I kept my voice perfectly calm. "Yes, Ethan. I sold the house. The new owners wanted immediate vacancy. Pity."

"You sold it? Just like that? Are you insane? You're being overly dramatic about Chloe! She's just my employee! I was being nice to her!"

I laughed. A short, sharp sound.

"Nice? Is that what you call it?"

Then I sent him the photos. His prized Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and Aston Martins, each one a museum piece, being carefully loaded onto flatbed trucks.

"This, Ethan," I said, my voice like ice, "is the price for crossing me. For letting your little secretary touch what's mine."

He was sputtering, speechless.

"Let me remind you," I continued, "our marriage was a strategic alliance. Your family wanted access to Vanderbilt connections, Vanderbilt capital. My family tolerated your new money ambition because you seemed, initially, presentable."

I remembered the early days. Hopeful, almost. I' d been pragmatic. I understood the business side of our union.

"But I have one non-negotiable term, Ethan. No third parties. No disrespect. You've violated both."

I hung up.

The silence in my New York apartment was absolute.

I looked out over Central Park.

He had no idea what he' d just started.