Six

​The glass-walled sanctuary of the Smith Inc. executive floor was designed to make its occupants feel like gods and its visitors feel like intruders. It was a space of absolute silence, broken only by the hum of the air filtration system and the rhythmic, predatory clicking of my own heels against the polished obsidian floors.

​I was standing by the window, watching a late-autumn rain dampen the skyline, when Rachel’s voice came through the intercom. It was hesitant, a stark contrast to her usual diamond-sharp professionalism.

​"Ms. Smith... Mr. Anderson is in the lobby again. Security was about to remove him, but he’s making quite a scene. He’s... he’s shouting that he won’t leave until he apologizes. He looks quite unwell. Should I call the police?"

​I stared at my reflection in the glass. The woman looking back at me wore a charcoal-grey power suit and a gaze that could freeze boiling water. Three weeks ago, the mention of Lucas making a scene would have sent me into a spiral of anxiety. Now? It felt like a minor administrative annoyance.

​"No, Rachel," I said, a slow, cold idea forming in my mind. "Don't call the police. Bring him up. But tell security to keep two men stationed inside the office. I want him to have an audience."

​"Understood, Ms. Smith."

​Ten minutes later, the heavy doors groaned open.

​Lucas didn't walk in; he stumbled. The man who stood before me was a hollowed-out caricature of the 'Prince Charming' I had married. His expensive suit—the one I had chosen for him because it brought out the blue in his eyes—was wrinkled and stained at the cuffs. His hair, usually styled to perfection, was matted with rain, and the dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises.

​He stopped in the center of the room, his eyes darting around the opulence of the office before settling on me.

I didn't move from the window. I stayed in the shadows, letting the grey light of the storm frame me.

​"Sara," he croaked. The voice that used to make my blood simmer now only made my skin crawl. It was thin, reeking of desperation and cheap scotch.

​"Mr. Anderson," I corrected him, my voice flat. "You have exactly five minutes before my security team physically tosses you into the alleyway. Use them wisely."

​He took a step forward, but the two guards moved instinctively to block him. Lucas flinched, his shoulders slouching in a way that made him look small.

Pathetic.

​"Sara, please ... you have to listen to me. Everything is falling apart," he began, his hands shaking as he reached out toward me. "The bank froze my personal accounts this morning. My suppliers won't take my calls. They’re saying Smith Inc. blacklisted us. We’re going to lose the warehouse, Sara. My parents ... they’re going to be evicted. You can't let this happen."

​"I am not 'letting' anything happen, Lucas," I said, finally turning to face him. I walked slowly toward my desk, the distance between us feeling like a canyon. "I am making it happen. There is a distinction."

​He fell to his knees. It was a sudden, jarring movement—the sound of his knees hitting the hardwood echoed like a gunshot.

​"I’m sorry!" he sobbed, the sound wet and ugly. "I was a fool, Sara. I was blinded by the stress of the business, by the pressure of trying to be someone I wasn't. Jennifer... she meant nothing. She was just a distraction from how much I was failing you! I was projecting my own insecurities on the only person who ever truly loved me."

​I sat in my leather chair, leaning back and interlacing my fingers. I watched him cry with the clinical interest of a scientist observing a dying insect. I felt no pity. I felt no rage. I felt a vacuum where my heart used to be.

​"Is that the script you practiced in the elevator, Lucas?" I asked. "It’s a bit cliché. The 'distraction' excuse? Surely a man of your ... ambitionv... could come up with something more original."

​"It's the truth!" he wailed, shuffling forward on his knees until he was inches from the desk. "I love you, Sara. I’ve always loved you. I was just too stupid to see what I had. Look at us! We were happy! We can go back to that. I don't care about the money or the Smith name. I just want my wife back."

​"My wife," I repeated, the words tasting like poison. "You didn't want a wife, Lucas. You wanted a benefactor. You wanted a ghost who would cook your meals, pay your debts, and stay silent while you brought another woman into the bed she paid for. You didn't love me. You loved the safety I provided. You loved the fact that I was a Smith who didn't know her own power."

​I leaned forward, my face inches from his. "But here’s the thing about ghosts, Lucas. Eventually, they stop haunting and they start hunting."

​"Please," he whispered, tears streaming down his face, snot dripping unheeded from his nose. "I’m begging you. Just give me a chance to fix the contract. Just one more quarter. I’ll do anything. I’ll sign over eighty percent of the company to you. I’ll go to therapy. I’ll be the man you want me to be."

​"The man I wanted you to be never existed," I said, my voice dropping to a terrifyingly soft whisper. "He was a fiction I wrote because I was lonely. And as for your company? I don't want eighty percent of a sinking ship. I’ve already bought your debt from the secondary lenders, Lucas. By Monday morning, I won't just be your ex-wife. I will be your primary creditor. I don't want your company; I want your bankruptcy."

​Lucas froze. The crying stopped as the sheer scale of his ruin finally dawned on him. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with a new kind of terror—the terror of a man who realizes he hasn't just lost his lover, but he’s challenged a monster.

​"You're a monster," he breathed, his voice trembling. "Your father... he turned you into this."

​"No," I corrected him, a small, genuine smile playing on my lips. "You did. You broke the girl who loved you, and you’re surprised that what crawled out of the wreckage doesn't have a heart? You taught me that love is a transaction, Lucas. I’m just settling the bill."

​I looked at the clock on my desk. "Your five minutes are up."

​"Sara, wait! You can't leave me with nothing! I have nowhere to go!"

​"I believe you told me to 'find a gutter' just a few weeks ago," I reminded him, standing up. "I’m sure there’s one nearby with your name on it. Or perhaps Jennifer has a spare sofa? Though, from what I hear, she’s already moved on to a junior executive at a firm in Dubai. She was always more efficient at social climbing than you."

​I signaled the guards. They stepped forward, each grabbing one of Lucas’s arms. He began to struggle, his screams echoing through the executive suite as they dragged him toward the door.

​"You'll regret this, Sara! You'll be alone in this tower! You’re just like your father! You’re nothing but a cold, empty suit!"

​The doors shut, cutting off his voice.

​I stood in the center of the room, the silence returning like a heavy blanket. I walked over to the sideboard and poured myself a glass of water. My hands were perfectly steady. I didn't feel the "wrongness" I expected. I didn't feel like I had lost my soul. I felt... clean.

​The phone on my desk buzzed. It was the internal line.

​"Ms. Smith?" It was Natty. Her voice sounded strange—a mix of awe and a little bit of fear.