Six months left

On the night of her birthday, Seraphina set the table herself.

She cooked all afternoon with Mrs.Holloway help: a simple roast, and the only cake she could afford, vanilla with a single candle. She lit the candles at six. She wore the navy dress, mended and pressed, because it was the only one she owned. She left a note on Adrian's pillow: Please come home tonight. I'm asking for one dinner.

Six o'clock became seven. Seven became nine. By eleven the candles had burned to puddles of wax and the roast sat cold under its silver lid. Mrs. Okafor stopped by twice with a gentle, aching look and said nothing.

At midnight, the front door opened.

Adrian came in laughing. Vanessa hung on his arm, tipsy and flushed, her hair loose around her shoulders. She wore a pale gold dress, and around her throat hung a delicate silver locket.

Seraphina's breath caught.

It was her mother's. The only thing she had brought from her old life. She had kept it hidden in a drawer for three years.

"Oh!" Vanessa clapped a hand over her mouth in fake surprise. "Seraphina, you waited up. How sweet."

"Where did you get that locket?"

"This?" Vanessa touched it lovingly. "Adrian gave it to me. He found it in your things and said it was too plain for you. Doesn't it suit me?"

Seraphina turned to her husband. "You took it from my drawer?"

"It's a trinket, Sera." Adrian rubbed his temple. "What's all this?"

"It's my birthday."

A pause. She watched it happen: the blank look, the slow dawning, the shrug.

"Oh. Right." He glanced at the cold roast. "Sorry. Busy day. Vanessa and I were at a client dinner."

"On my birthday?"

"I said I'm sorry. Don't make it a thing."

Margaret appeared at the top of the stairs in her silk robe, eyes narrowed at the candles. "What is this, a funeral? Clear that rubbish away. It's midnight."

Seraphina did not move. She looked at the three of them: the man who had forgotten her, the woman who wore her mother's locket, and the old woman who had never once spoken her name kindly.

"I told you I'd give you a year," she said. "Tonight I'm giving you a chance."

"A chance for what?" Adrian said wearily.

"To apologize. To give back what's mine. To choose me. Just once."

Vanessa laughed. It was not cruel, which made it worse. It was light and amused.

"Oh, darling," she said. "He already chose."

Adrian did not correct her.

For a long moment Seraphina stood very still. Then she stepped forward and took the locket from Vanessa's throat in one swift motion, closing her fist around it.

Vanessa shrieked. "She hit me! Adrian!"

"I didn't touch your skin," Seraphina said. "This is mine."

Adrian caught her wrist, hard. "Give it back."

"No."

"I said give it—"

"Let go of my arm, Adrian."

Something in her voice made him pause: a cold, level stillness he had never heard before. For half a second he looked unsettled.

Then Margaret's voice cut across the hall. "Adrian, she's attacking her! Teach her a lesson!"

His grip tightened. His other hand lifted.

The slap landed across Seraphina's face. It was the first time he had ever struck her.

She did not cry out. She did not fall. She stood in the candlelit dining room with her mother's locket in her fist and her cheek on fire, and looked at the man she had married as though she were seeing him for the last time.

"Thank you," she said.

His brow furrowed. "For what?"

"For making it easy."

Later, in the guest room, she sat on the bed and counted on her fingers.

Six months gone. Six to go.

She laid the locket in her palm and finally allowed herself to weep, silently, so that no one would hear. Then she wiped her face, opened the black phone, and called the Chairman.

"Madam," he answered at once, his voice thick with emotion. "You're crying."

"I'm done crying, Harlan." She stared at the locket. "Tell me where we are."

"Cole Industries owes forty million to three lenders. I have quietly purchased all three loans. The board is divided. Your shell companies now hold eighteen percent of the shares. In six months, if you wish it, you can own the company outright."

"And Vanessa?"

"Embezzling for nine months. We have her bank records, her messages, her private accounts. Everything is waiting for your word."

"Margaret?"

"Her entire social standing depends on the Cole name. When Cole Industries falls, so does she."

Seraphina closed her eyes. She thought of kneeling on marble. She thought of the wine, the necklace, the slap.

"Don't move yet," she said. "Let them finish what they started. Let Adrian sign every paper and celebrate every victory. I want him standing as high as he can before I pull the ground away."

"And the divorce?"

"On the final day." She opened her eyes, and for the first time in a year they were calm and bright and utterly merciless. "I'll sign the papers myself, in front of everyone he knows."

On the nightstand, beside the locket, sat a small white card with a private number on the back. She picked it up and turned it over in her fingers.

When you're ready to stop pretending, call me.

Her thumb hovered over the screen for a long moment.

Then she dialed.

"Hale," said a calm, familiar voice.

"Mr. Hale." She drew a breath. "It's Seraphina Cole. I think it's time we talked."

A pause. And then, very softly, as though he had been waiting a long time for exactly this:

"I'm listening."