The sealed envelope slipped onto the mahogany surface of Table One with a sound like a guillotine blade hitting the block.

“FALL FROM GRACE: Hayes Enterprises CEO Arrested at Charity Gala Amid Massive Embezzlement and Extortion Probe.”

The thumbnail images plastered across every major news network weren't of the glittering ballroom or the charitable donations; they were of Preston in his tailored tuxedo, his hands cuffed behind his back, being led out of The Ellery by federal marshals while flashes blinded him from every angle. Beside him, photographs of Brielle Madden fleeing the venue in her silver gown—her makeup streaked with tears, clutching her designer handbag over her face—were trending worldwide under the hashtag #GalaMistress.

I sat at the marble kitchen island in my penthouse, wearing a silk robe, sipping a cup of dark roast coffee while scrolling through my tablet.

The doorbell chimed.

I didn't need to check the intercom. I knew who it was.

I walked to the heavy double doors and unlocked them, pulling them open to reveal Eleanor Hayes. The matriarch of Boston society looked ten years older than she had twenty-four hours ago. Her designer tweed suit was slightly wrinkled, her hair was uncharacteristically disheveled, and her hands shook as she clutched her leather handbag against her chest.

She didn't wait for an invitation. She pushed past me into the foyer, her eyes darting around the expansive penthouse as if searching for a hidden weapon.

"You've gone completely insane," Eleanor hissed, turning to face me as I closed the door. "Do you have any idea what you've done? You've destroyed generations of family legacy in one single night! The Hayes name is ruined!"

I walked slowly back to the kitchen, gesturing lazily toward one of the velvet stools. "Would you like some coffee, Eleanor? Or are you here to remind me of my duty as a loyal, obedient wife?"

"Don't patronize me!" she snapped, slamming her handbag onto the counter. "Preston is your husband! It is a wife's duty to stand by her man through trials, not stab him in the back with a pack of bloodthirsty lawyers!"

"A wife's duty," I repeated, leaning against the counter and looking her dead in the eye. "Tell me, Eleanor—when your husband, Arthur Senior, was running secret accounts in the Bahamas back in the nineties, did you stand by him, or did you quietly negotiate a multi-million-dollar silence agreement while threatening to cut him off from the family estate?"

Eleanor’s breath caught in her throat. The color vanished entirely from her face, leaving her looking like a marble statue.

"How... how could you possibly know about that?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"My grandfather kept meticulous records," I said calmly. "Men like the Hayes family always assume that secrets stay buried because people are too polite to dig. But my family invented the shovel."

Eleanor gripped the edge of the marble counter to steady herself. Her fierce, haughty demeanor crumbled into something desperate and fragile.

"Katherine... please," she muttered, her voice breaking. "Preston is my only son. If he goes to prison, the family name is finished. The board is voting to oust him this morning. His assets are frozen. He has nothing. Won't you show a little mercy?"

"Mercy?" I asked softly, tilting my head. "Where was Preston’s mercy when he brought his mistress to a charity event honoring children, parading her in front of donors and cameras just to humiliate me publicly? Where was his mercy when he stole millions from a hospital foundation to buy Brielle a penthouse in Miami?"

"She manipulated him!" Eleanor cried out, grasping at straws. "That gold-digging whore trapped him—"

"No, Eleanor," I interrupted, my tone hardening into steel. "Preston wasn't trapped. He was arrogant. He thought he could have everything—my family's backing, corporate power, and his little side-piece—without any consequences. He made his bed. And unlike Brielle, he doesn't get to sleep in silk anymore."

Before Eleanor could reply, her phone rang loudly from inside her handbag. She fumbled with the clasp, pulled it out with shaking fingers, and pressed accept.

"Hello?... Yes?... What do you mean?... No, no, please, let me speak to—"

Her knees buckled. She caught herself against the counter, staring blankly at the screen before the call disconnected.

"What was that?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"The... the board," Eleanor whispered, tears finally spilling over her carefully lined eyelids. "They just voted unanimously. Preston has been stripped of his CEO title. They're... they're liquidating his shares to pay back the hospital endowment."

She looked up at me, the fight completely gone from her soul.