The squash court echoed with the thwack of rubber against the wall.
Anna sat on the bench, a towel folded neatly on her lap. She had been out of the clinic for a week. She looked better. The color had returned to her cheeks, though her eyes remained watchful.
Grayson lunged, his racket connecting with the ball. He was sweating, his hair plastered to his forehead. He played squash like he did business-with unnecessary aggression.
He finished the set and walked over to her, breathing hard.
Anna stood up immediately. She handed him the towel.
"Good game," she said. Her voice was steady.
Grayson wiped his face. He winced slightly as the towel brushed a scrape on his forehead, a souvenir from a ball that had ricocheted too fast.
"Here," Anna said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small adhesive bandage.
She peeled the backing off. She stepped close to him. She was tall, but he still towered over her. She placed the bandage gently over the scrape. Her fingers lingered for a second on his temple.
Grayson closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. For a moment, he looked almost human. He looked like a man who wanted to be taken care of.
"The gala is next month," he said, his eyes still closed.
"I know," Anna said. "I picked up my dress from the cleaners."
"You don't need it," he said.
Anna's hand froze. She pulled back.
Grayson opened his eyes. The softness was gone.
"Why?" she asked.
"You need rest," he said. He tossed the towel onto the bench. "The doctor said stress triggers your episodes. I don't want a scene like the Hamptons again. It's bad for business."
"I'm fine, Grayson," she said. "I can handle a dinner."
"I have other arrangements," he said. He picked up his gym bag. "I'll keep the allowance coming. You just stay at the apartment. Be a good girl. Stay out of sight."
He walked toward the exit.
Anna followed him out to the street. The city noise rushed in to fill the silence between them.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket. A notification from Page Six flashed on the screen.
She tapped it.
WALL STREET GOLDEN BOY GRAYSON WARREN SPOTTED WITH PR QUEEN JAYLENE HORNE. IS THIS THE NEW POWER COUPLE?
The photo was high definition. It was taken through the window of Nobu. Grayson was leaning across the table, smiling at a woman with sharp features and blonde hair that looked like spun gold. Jaylene Horne.
He was holding her hand.
Anna stopped walking. She looked at the photo, then at Grayson's back.
It was a Soft Launch.
In the age of social media, you didn't just announce a relationship. You hinted at it. You let the paparazzi catch a glimpse. You tested the market reaction before you made the IPO.
Jaylene was the merger. Anna was the divestiture.
Grayson stopped by his waiting car. He checked his phone. He was smiling.
His phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. Congratulatory texts.
He looked up at Anna. He saw the phone in her hand. He saw that she knew.
"News travels fast," he said. He didn't look guilty. He looked relieved.
"She's pretty," Anna said. Her voice was flat.
"She's competent," Grayson corrected. "She understands the game."
Anna's phone vibrated again. It was a notification from Signal.
The Warren Family Office.
It was the group chat for the inner circle. Grayson, his brother Preston, their mother Victoria, and the lawyers. Anna had been in it for three years, mostly as a silent observer, a ghost in the machine.
System Message: Grayson added Jaylene to the group.
Anna stared at the screen. The cruelty of it was breathtaking.
Jaylene: Hi everyone! So excited to be part of the team. Let's make this quarter historic!
Victoria: Welcome, darling! Finally, some fresh energy.
Preston: Glad to have you, Jay.
They were welcoming the replacement while the body was still warm. They hadn't even removed Anna from the group. They just ignored her. She was invisible.
Anna looked at Grayson. He was typing a reply in the group chat. A thumbs-up emoji.
He opened the car door. He paused, looking at her standing on the curb.
"You can take an Uber back," he said. "I have a meeting."
He got in. The door slammed shut. The tinted window rolled up, erasing him from her view.
The car pulled away, merging into the traffic of Fifth Avenue.
Anna stood there. She didn't feel the crushing weight she expected. She felt lighter.
The hope was gone. And with the hope, the fear was gone too.
She waited until his car was out of sight before pulling a second, older phone from a hidden pocket in her purse. This one had no tracking software, no digital leash. It was her real phone. She opened the secure app.
Anna: Target has introduced a new variable. Jaylene Horne is in the inner circle.
FBI Contact: Does this compromise your access?
Anna: No. It creates a distraction. Initiate Plan B.
She put the phone in her pocket. She took a deep breath of the exhaust-filled air. It tasted like freedom.
