Freezing Atlantic water filled Flora Love's mouth, burning her lungs as the capsized yacht sank behind her into the Long Island typhoon—one they had sailed straight into that morning, ignoring every official typhoon warning from the Coast Guard. Her vision blurred, and her numb fingers finally brushed the edge of a floating wooden plank. Before she could grip it, a large, bony hand yanked the wood away. Eloy Jensen, her husband of three years and the CEO of Jensen Enterprises, shoved the plank toward Kizzie Delaney, who was splashing wildly a few feet away. Kizzie clung to the wood, shivering as tears mixed with the rain on her face. "Eloy, I'm so scared! Am I going to die out here just like my parents did eight years ago?" At the mention of the parents who had supposedly died saving his life, Eloy's amber eyes constricted. Without a second of hesitation, he unbuckled the only bright orange life vest he was wearing. Flora choked on a mouthful of bitter saltwater, her stomach dropping like lead. She kicked her legs with the last of her strength, lunging forward to grab the hem of Eloy's soaked shirt. "Eloy, I'm your legal wife!" Flora's voice was raw, her knuckles turning white against the dark fabric. "I can't swim!" Eloy pried her stiff fingers off his shirt one by one, his voice devoid of any warmth. "If I had made a scene, would you have saved me first?" Flora's voice was barely a whisper against the wind. He pressed his thin lips together and said nothing. She already had her answer. She had known it deep in her bones for three whole years—she was never more than a stand-in for Kizzie, the untouchable white moonlight he had carried in his heart since he was a boy. Every soft glance, every quiet tolerance, had never truly been for her. He would never choose her first, not even on the brink of death. "Kizzie's parents died pulling me out of a fire. I cannot let anything happen to their only daughter. Hold on by yourself for a few minutes!" He forced the life vest over Kizzie's shoulders and wrapped an arm around her waist, swimming toward the approaching rescue speedboat without looking back once. Flora lost her leverage. A massive wave slammed into her chest, dragging her down into the black depths. Freezing water rushed into her nostrils, and her chest convulsed as darkness swallowed her vision. In the final second before she lost consciousness, a muscular forearm locked around her waist, and the crisp, familiar scent of cedarwood cut through the stench of the sea. When Flora opened her dark brown eyes again, the smell of saltwater was replaced by antiseptic. She was lying in a private hospital room on Manhattan's Upper East Side, a heart monitor beeping steadily beside her bed. The heavy door swung open, hitting the wall. Eloy strode in carrying the damp chill of the rain, followed closely by the head of Jensen Enterprises' legal department. Flora's throat burned like raw flesh. She reached toward the nightstand for a glass of water, but Eloy did not even glance at her pale face. He threw a thick stack of documents onto her blanket with a loud slap. "Sign this maritime liability waiver." Flora propped herself up on trembling elbows, her vision swimming as she looked down at the bold title. The clauses stated that she admitted full responsibility for crashing the yacht into the reef due to operational negligence. Her chest tightened until she could barely draw breath. She looked up at him. "Kizzie insisted on taking the yacht out despite the typhoon warning, and she was at the helm when the typhoon struck. You want me to take the blame for her?" Eloy frowned, pulling a hand-rolled cigar from his pocket and rolling it irritably between his fingers. "Kizzie is traumatized. The Jensen family's public relations cannot afford a scandal right now. You are my wife, and it's your duty to share the burden for the family." Flora lowered her gaze, a cold smile tugging at the corner of her pale lips. Under the cover of the blanket, her left thumb pressed the side button of her black Apple Watch, activating the voice recorder. "And if I refuse to sign?" she asked, raising her eyes to meet his. The warmth that used to fill her gaze over the past three years was gone, leaving only dead ash. Eloy froze for a split second at her pushback, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white before letting out a cold laugh. "Refuse? Then you can forget about ever stepping out from under the Jensen family's watch for the rest of your life." Flora needed to get out of this legal trap cleanly and secure the cash to fund her exit. She reached over, picked up the Montblanc pen from the tray, and uncapped it. Without another word, she signed her name across the bottom of the waiver and the attached non-disclosure agreement. Eloy stared at her swift signature, a flash of annoyed confusion crossing his face as if her easy compliance bothered him. The legal director stepped forward and held out a slip of paper. "Mrs. Jensen, this is a five-million-dollar check from Mr. Jensen as compensation for your emotional distress." Flora took the check between two fingers, deliberately avoiding Eloy's hovering hand. "I have the money. Get out." She had not cried once. Not in the water. Not in this room. Eloy's face darkened at her blunt dismissal. He pressed his thin lips into a tight line, stared hard at her for a moment, and turned to slam the door behind him. Silence returned to the ward. Flora looked down at the check, then noticed a black bespoke suit jacket draped over the armchair near her nightstand. It wasn't Eloy's style. She reached out and brushed her fingertips against the wool. Faint traces of dried blood and that same cold cedarwood scent lingered in the fabric. A nurse walked in carrying a fresh IV bag. Flora slipped the check under her pillow and pointed to the chair. "Who brought me to the hospital?" The nurse kept her eyes glued to the metal tray, her fingers fumbling slightly with the plastic tubing. "It... it was Mr. Jensen's security team, ma'am." The words came out stiff, like a line she had been told to memorize. Flora caught the tremor in the woman's voice. She pulled the sleeve of the black jacket closer, her fingers closing around a heavy silver cufflink engraved with a dark cross. It was the exclusive family crest of Esteban Kirkland. Esteban Kirkland. It was him. A nostalgic smile tugged at the corner of Flora's lips.

Flora's hands brushed over the cross-engraved cufflink; the cold metal pulled her memory back to the rainy night at JFK Airport three years ago—when she had ended things with Esteban Kirkland. She threw off the hospital blanket, ignoring the sharp sting of blood backing up into her IV tube, and stepped barefoot onto the cold floor tiles. Walking to the floor-to-ceiling window, she looked out over the glittering lights of Manhattan. Heavy footsteps stopped just outside her door, followed by the low rumble of two bodyguards talking. Flora moved silently to the door, pressing her ear against the wood and holding her breath. "Whose black Agusta helicopter was that on the helipad earlier? Even the Coast Guard didn't dare block its flight path." "Keep your voice down," the second guard hissed. "Don't you recognize the Kirkland conglomerate emblem? The boss of Wall Street jumped into the ocean himself to pull her out." Flora's pupils shrank, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. It really was Esteban. Despite three years of silence, the billionaire head of the Kirkland family was still watching her from the shadows. Three years. She had given him three whole years of her life, and left the night another woman's name lit up his phone. Not one word of explanation—she had simply disappeared. She walked back to the bed, picked up her phone, and opened her blocked contacts list. Her thumb hovered over the number that had been blacklisted for three years, her throat tight, before she finally locked the screen without dialing. Kizzie had been taken in by the Jensens at twelve. At eighteen she slipped into Eloy's bed; he shipped her to Europe the first morning after. To bury the scandal, he married Flora six months later—because she had the same eyes. Same cold, clear shape. In three years he had never once looked at those eyes and seen her. A second later, the screen lit up with an incoming FaceTime call from her best friend, Chloe Sullivan. Flora smoothed her expression and tapped accept. Chloe's anxious face filled the screen inside her law office. "Flora! The news said the Jensen yacht capsized off Long Island. Are you okay?" "I'm alive," Flora said, lowering her eyes with a cold smile. "But I need you to do something for me right now." "Name it. Even if you want me to blow up the Jensen Enterprises tower, I'm in," Chloe said through gritted teeth. As Manhattan's sharpest divorce attorney, she had hated Eloy from day one. "Draft a no-fault divorce agreement demanding half of our marital assets, along with my resignation letter as Chief Compliance Officer of Jensen Enterprises." Chloe froze on the other end, her coffee mug slipping an inch in her hand. "You're divorcing that bastard Eloy? He'll never sign it. He treats you like his personal property!" "I'm divorcing him, Chloe. I've thought it through." "He will sign it, as long as he doesn't know what he's putting his name on," Flora said, glancing at the five-million-dollar check on the nightstand. They quickly went over the legal clauses, and Flora instructed her to bury the divorce papers deep inside a three-hundred-page annual corporate compliance filing. After hanging up, Flora sat on the edge of the bed and tapped her Apple Watch, connecting it to the hospital's secure Wi-Fi. As Chief Compliance Officer, she held full administrative access to every layer of the company’s internal system. She typed in an encrypted command, pulled three years of trust fund transfers and core compliance vulnerability records, and saved them directly to her private cloud drive. When the progress bar hit one hundred percent, the electronic lock on the ward door beeped. Flora shut off her watch screen in a flash, dropping back onto the pillows and closing her eyes just as the door opened. Eloy's personal assistant walked in and placed several luxury shopping bags on the sofa. "Ma'am, Mr. Jensen instructed that you must be discharged tomorrow morning to attend Old Mrs. Eleanor's weekend family dinner on Long Island." Flora let out a raspy sound of acknowledgment, keeping her breathing slow and shallow. Once the door clicked shut, she sat up and pulled a velvet box from the top bag. Inside lay a heavy pigeon-blood ruby necklace—Eloy's standard routine of tossing her a bone after slapping her in the face. She had found another velvet box in his closet months ago—one she had never been given. Not her size. Her stomach churned with disgust. She stood up and dropped the box straight into the metal trash can by the bathroom. The next morning, Flora signed her discharge papers and climbed into the back of the town car heading toward the Jensen estate on Long Island. The rain had cleared, leaving pale sunlight bouncing off the wet asphalt of the expressway. Flora pulled out her phone, snapped a casual photo of the Long Island coastline through the window, and posted it to her Instagram without a caption. Less than five seconds later, a notification banner dropped down from the top of her screen. She tapped it, and her breath caught in her throat. A private account with a blank avatar and zero followers—an account that followed only her—had just liked the photo. The handle was simply two letters: "E. K."

Flora forced herself to press the power button, blacking out the screen and shoving the pounding in her chest down as the town car rolled through the wrought-iron gates of the Jensen estate. She stepped out of the car and walked into the grand foyer, immediately catching the high-pitched sound of Kizzie's laughter coming from the side parlor. Walking down the marble hallway, Flora saw Kizzie leaning boneless against Eloy's shoulder on the sofa, her fingers playing with an antique porcelain teacup. Eloy's eyes flicked toward her, and he caught her wrist under the guise of adjusting his cuff. "When Grandma comes down, tell her it was your idea to take the yacht out," he murmured, low enough that Kizzie wouldn't hear. Flora's lashes lowered. "And if she punishes me for it?" "Then take it. You're her elder—you should carry more for her." She gave a small, obedient nod. At the sound of Flora's heels, Eloy looked up. Seeing her pale face, he frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but the heavy thud of a wooden cane striking the stairs cut him off. Eleanor Jensen, the silver-haired matriarch of the family, descended the staircase slowly with a maid supporting her arm. She walked straight past her grandson and took Flora's ice-cold hands into her warm ones. "My poor child. You've suffered so much." Seeing the old woman's affection for Flora, Kizzie immediately wiped the smile off her face, biting her lower lip as she stepped forward with watery eyes. "Grandma Eleanor, it's all my fault. If I hadn't insisted on taking the yacht out, Sister Flora wouldn't have fallen into the sea." She squeezed out two tears and reached for Eleanor's sleeve. "Eloy nearly got hurt trying to save me, too." Flora lowered her gaze with a faint, cold smirk, taking half a step back and swaying slightly on her feet to avoid Kizzie's hand. Eleanor's eyes turned razor-sharp. She slapped Kizzie's hand away and slammed her cane down onto the Persian rug. "Who gave you permission to speak in this house? The daughter of a hired driver, stealing a few days of luxury, and you actually think blue blood runs in your veins?" Eleanor's voice echoed off the high ceilings, stripping Kizzie bare in front of the house staff. Kizzie's face drained of all color, her honey-brown eyes widening in horror as her body trembled. Eloy shot to his feet and pulled Kizzie behind his back, his jaw tight. "Grandma, Kizzie is the sole orphan of the people who saved my life! How can you speak to her like that?" "Saved your life?" Eleanor let out a harsh laugh. "She's a parasite! Flora is the wife you married before the law and church. You left your own wife to drown in the ocean to save an outsider—you have disgraced the entire Jensen name!" Standing beside the old woman, Flora watched Kizzie shake with humiliation, her own chest remaining completely calm. Eleanor turned her head toward the butler standing by the wall. "Cancel all supplementary black cards under Kizzie Delaney's name immediately, and freeze her monthly trust dividends until she learns how to respect the mistress of the Jensen house." Panic finally broke through Kizzie's mask. Tears poured down her cheeks as she clutched Eloy's sleeve with both hands. "Eloy, I didn't... I really didn't mean to disrespect Sister Flora!" Eloy knitted his brows, frustration rolling off him. "Grandma, cutting off her cards is going too far. Kizzie has to attend the Wall Street Charity Gala next week." Flora covered her mouth and coughed twice, her voice weak and raspy. "Grandma, please let it go. After all, Kizzie doesn't have a job. If you cut off her allowance, how is she supposed to survive in Manhattan?" Her gentle plea acted like gasoline on Eleanor's fury. "If she doesn't have a job, she can go wash dishes in Manhattan! The Jensen family does not feed useless leeches! Freeze them right now!" The butler bowed and tapped rapidly on his tablet. A second later, Kizzie's phone chimed with a string of bank alert notifications. Sobbing loudly, Kizzie covered her face and ran out the front doors. Eloy stared after her, then whipped his head around to glare at Flora, his chest heaving. "Are you satisfied now? Do you have to tear this house apart before you're happy?" He looked back at Flora once, paused a half-second, then turned on his heel and sprinted out the door after Kizzie. Eleanor patted the back of Flora's hand with a heavy sigh before walking back toward the stairs. The moment the matriarch turned her back, the soft warmth vanished from Flora's eyes. She walked over to the sofa, picked up a diamond earring Kizzie had dropped in her panic, and tossed it into the wastebasket. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was an encrypted text from Chloe: "The divorce agreement and resignation letter are buried in Monday's compliance filing. Three hundred pages thick. He won't suspect a thing." Flora typed back a quick "OK" and permanently deleted the chat thread, looking out the window as Eloy's sports car roared down the driveway with Kizzie in the passenger seat.