Chapter 2

In the VIP ward of the city hospital, the machines beeped steadily.

After a grueling night of emergency surgery, my father, Charles, was finally out of danger.

Once my mother was settled in the visitor’s chair, I took a cab back to our estate in the hills.

I unlocked the front door. The house felt like a tomb.

Raphael's designer tie clip was tossed carelessly on the coffee table. I didn't even look at it. I walked straight up to the second-floor study.

Just as I reached the door, my phone vibrated. It was Raphael.

I answered and put it on speaker.

"Are you done throwing your tantrum?" Raphael’s voice was dripping with irritation.

"My assistant told me you canceled the chopper dispatch? Windsor, when did you become so incredibly petty?"

I pushed the study door open, keeping silent.

Raphael took my silence as an invitation to keep shouting.

"Hailey is just a sensitive girl! She was crying so hard she couldn't breathe when her cat went missing! Your dad is fine, isn't he? Did you really have to start a fight over this?"

He paused, then sneered. "Sophia just sent me divorce papers. Windsor, is this your new trick to get my attention?"

He let out a harsh laugh. "It won't work. I've already frozen your credit cards. Grow up, and don't make me lose my temper."

I walked over to the desk and pulled open the bottom drawer.

"Are you finished?" I asked, my voice flat.

Raphael gasped slightly, caught off guard.

"Raphael," I said slowly, "keep your little mistress close. And tell your lawyers to get ready."

I hung up and blocked his number.

No yelling, no crying. He didn't deserve a single drop of my energy.

I knelt down, entered the code to the safe, and yanked it open.

Dozens of thick, leather-bound sketchbooks were stacked neatly inside.

Every single best-selling collection R-H Jewelry had launched in the last decade came from these pages. Raphael was the public face, the "genius designer," while I was the ghost who did all the work in this dark room.

I dragged a large suitcase over and dumped every sketchbook inside. I left nothing.

Then, I sat at the computer, logged into the encrypted drive, and pulled up our files.

The entire product pipeline for the next three years—hundreds of original, unreleased designs—was saved here.

I selected all files. Permanent delete.

The progress bar ran to 100%.

To make sure there was no way to recover them, I ran a hard drive shredder program and wiped the cloud backup.

The screen went blank.

I smiled. Raphael thought he was a business genius. Hailey claimed she was a prodigy.

Let's see how far they get without my designs to carry them.

I walked into the master bedroom. I left the designer bags and diamond jewelry behind. I only took my passport, ID, and a few change of clothes.

Ten minutes later, I stood at the front door with my suitcase.

I took off my brass house key—the symbol of being "Mrs. Raphael"—and tossed it into the trash can.

I walked out the door and never looked back.

To hell with being his wife. From now on, I was just Windsor.

And I was going to play by my own rules.