Severance

The divorce papers sat on Sofia's coffee table for three days.

Aria could not bring herself to sign them. Not because she wanted to stay married to Ethan. Because every time she picked up the pen, she saw Vanessa's signature beside his. The looping letters. The way her name curved toward his like a vine seeking sunlight.

She had been her best friend. Eight years of birthdays, breakups, late-night phone calls. Vanessa had held her hair back when she was sick. Vanessa had stood beside her at her wedding, dabbing tears from her eyes, telling her she was the luckiest woman alive.

The luckiest woman alive. What a joke.

Sofia came home from work each evening and found Aria in the same spot on the couch, the papers spread before her, the check still folded in her pocket.

You have to sign them eventually, Sofia said on the third night.

I know.

Then why are you waiting?

Aria picked up the pen. She looked at Ethan's signature. The sharp E, the aggressive loop of the h. She had watched him sign a thousand documents. Contracts. Checks. The deed to the house she had walked out of without looking back.

She signed her name. Aria Mitchell. Not Aria Cresswell. She had taken her maiden name back the day she left, though she had not told anyone.

Sofia watched her. What now?

Now I call Marcus. We file. And then we wait.

For what?

For Ethan to realize I am not going away quietly.

Sofia sat down beside her. Her hand found Aria's knee.

He is going to come after you, Sofia said. You know that, right?

Aria looked at her sister. At the fear in her eyes. At the love she had never deserved.

Let him, Aria said.

Marcus filed the papers the next morning.

Aria was in his office when he did it, watching him slide the documents into an envelope, seal it, hand it to his assistant. The gesture felt anticlimactic. Five years of marriage, reduced to a few sheets of paper and a courier's signature.

It is done, Marcus said. He will be served within forty-eight hours.

Aria nodded. She felt nothing. That scared her more than anything.

Marcus leaned back in his chair. He studied her for a long moment.

I need to ask you something, he said. And I need you to answer honestly.

All right.

Are you ready for what comes next? Because Ethan is not going to take this lying down. He is going to fight. He is going to dig up everything he can find on you. He is going to try to make you look unstable. Unreliable. Unfit.

Aria thought about the last five years. The way she had made herself small. The way she had stopped painting, stopped dreaming, stopped being anyone except Ethan's wife.

Let him dig, she said. I have nothing to hide.

Marcus nodded. He reached into his desk and pulled out a small wooden box. He set it between them.

This is not about the divorce, he said. This is about something else. Something I should have told you before.

Aria looked at the box. It was plain, unmarked, the wood worn smooth.

What is that? she asked.

Marcus opened the box. Inside was a flash drive. Small. Black. Unremarkable.

This is Victor Cresswell's final gift to his son, Marcus said. Victor was Ethan and Liam's father. He knew what Ethan was planning. He gathered evidence. And then he died before he could use it.

He pushed the box toward her.

This is everything, he said. The embezzlement records. The names of the men Ethan paid to hurt Liam. The accounts he used to hide the money he stole. It is all here.

Aria stared at the flash drive. The key to destroying Ethan. The proof that could put him in prison.

Why are you giving this to me? she asked.

Because Liam will not open it, Marcus said. He is too proud. Too angry. He wants to win on his own. But you? You are the first person who has made him want something other than revenge.

He closed the box. He pushed it toward her.

Take it, he said. Give it to him. Or do not. But whatever you decide, you need to understand what you are walking into. Ethan Cresswell does not lose. He does not forgive. And he will do whatever it takes to destroy anyone who crosses him.

Aria picked up the box. It was small, light, but it felt heavy in her hands.

I understand, she said.

She left Marcus's office and walked into the cold afternoon light.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Liam.

Marcus told me he gave you the flash drive. Please do not open it. Not yet. We need to talk first.

She typed back: Then talk. I am outside your building.

A pause. Then: Come up.

She had not planned to go to him. Her feet had carried her there without permission. She stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the dark glass of his penthouse, the box in her coat pocket, her heart pounding.

She walked inside. The elevator rose. The doors opened.

He was waiting in the doorway, dressed in black, his face unreadable.

You should not have come, he said.

You should not have lied to me.

He flinched. Slightly. But he stepped aside and let her in.

The penthouse looked different in the daylight. The city sprawled below, gray and cold, the river cutting through the center like a scar. The record player was silent. The books were still stacked on the tables.

Aria walked to the window. She did not sit. She did not take off her coat.

Why did not you tell me who you were? she asked.

Liam stood behind her. She could feel the heat of him, the weight of his presence.

Because I was a coward, he said. Because I saw you in that bar, and I could not believe you were real. My brother's wife. The woman I had been trying to forget for five years. You walked in wearing a ruined dress and a broken heart, and I knew. I knew I would do whatever it took to keep you from walking back out.

She turned to face him. His gray eyes were dark, tired, ringed with shadows.

You should have told me, she said.

I know.

You should have said, I am Liam. I am your husband's brother. I have been watching you for five years.

I know.

She stepped closer. Close enough to see the scar through his eyebrow, the stubble on his jaw, the way his hands hung at his sides, shaking.

What do you want from me? she asked.

He reached out. His hand hovered near her face, not touching.

Everything, he said. Or nothing. Whatever you are willing to give.

She should have walked away. She should have taken the flash drive and left. She should have focused on the divorce, on the gallery, on rebuilding her life without Ethan or Liam or any of the Cresswells.

Instead, she reached into her pocket. She pulled out the wooden box. She held it out to him.

Open it, she said.

Liam stared at the box. His jaw tightened.

I cannot, he said.

Why not?

Because if I open it, I become him. I become the man who destroys his own brother. I become the man who lets revenge consume everything.

He looked at her.

I do not want to become him, Aria. I want to become someone else. Someone you could love.

The words hung in the air. Love. He had said love.

She set the box on the table between them.

Then do not open it for revenge, she said. Open it for justice. Open it for Elena. Open it for the five years he stole from you.

She stepped back.

But do not open it for me. I am not your reason. I am not your redemption. I am just a woman who made a terrible mistake marrying the wrong brother.

Liam stared at her. His hands were shaking.

You are not a mistake, he said.

She walked to the door. She did not look back.

Then prove it, she said. Open the box. Take back what he stole. And when you are done, come find me.

She stepped into the elevator. The doors closed.

Her phone buzzed before she reached the lobby. A text from Liam.

I will open it. For you. For Elena. For me.

She did not respond.

Another text came through. This one was not from Liam.

I know about the flash drive, Aria. I know Marcus gave it to you. I know you think you can destroy me. But you are forgetting something. I know things too. Things about Elena. Things that will destroy him. Come to the house tonight. Alone. Or I will tell him the truth.

Ethan.

Her blood went cold.

She typed back: What truth?

The response came instantly. The truth about how she really died.

Aria stared at the screen. Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the phone.

Elena had died of cancer. That was what Liam had told her. That was what everyone believed.

But Ethan was implying something else. Something worse.

She looked up at the building behind her. At the penthouse where Liam was probably opening the flash drive at this very moment, reading his father's evidence, learning the truth about his brother's crimes.

She could not tell him about the text. Not yet. Not until she knew what Ethan meant.

She typed back: I will come. Alone. But if you are lying, I will make sure you spend the rest of your life in prison.

I am not lying, Ethan replied. Eight o'clock. Do not be late.

Aria slipped her phone into her pocket. She walked into the cold afternoon light.

She had a choice to make. Tell Liam and risk him doing something reckless. Or go alone and face Ethan herself.

She already knew which one she would choose.