The yellow taxi pulled up to the curb outside Falon's private Upper East Side apartment building.
She handed the driver a fifty-dollar bill and stepped out. She ignored the doorman's wide-eyed stare at her bare legs and aggressive black suit.
She took the elevator up to her floor. She unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The apartment was quiet. It was decorated in soft pastels and delicate fabrics-everything Jerod liked. It made her sick.
Falon kicked off her heels. She walked straight to the velvet jewelry box on her dresser.
She opened it and pulled out the massive, five-carat diamond engagement ring Jerod had given her.
She did not look at it with sadness. She grabbed it and yanked it off her finger. The metal scraped her skin.
She walked into the kitchen and pulled a heavy-duty black trash bag from under the sink.
She marched through the apartment. She threw in the silk ties Jerod left on her chair. She threw in his expensive Tom Ford cologne. She threw in the matching cashmere sweaters he made her wear.
She walked to her desk. She opened the top drawer and pulled out the black American Express Centurion card Jerod had given her.
She grabbed a heavy metal letter opener from the desk.
She placed the thick titanium card on the hardwood floor, knelt, and drove the sharp point of the opener directly into the card's chip. She scraped and twisted until the chip was a mangled mess. Then she flipped it and viciously scored the magnetic strip until it was unreadable.
Falon carried the heavy trash bag out into the hallway. She opened the metal chute.
She dumped the bag inside. She dropped the mangled remains of the black card on top of it.
She listened to the heavy thud as her past crashed down into the basement incinerator.
She walked back inside and locked the door.
She went to the bar cart and poured herself two fingers of neat whiskey.
Before the glass touched her lips, the apartment's landline phone buzzed on the counter.
The caller ID flashed: Mother.
Falon took a deep breath. She pressed accept.
"Where the hell are you?" Corinne Dunn's shrill voice blasted through the speaker.
Falon pulled the phone away from her ear.
"You missed the charity tea party this morning!" Corinne screamed. "Do you have any idea how humiliating it was for me to make excuses for you to the Rockefellers?"
Falon's grip on the glass tightened. Her knuckles turned white.
"I was missing for twenty-four hours, Mother," Falon said. Her voice was dead. "And your first question is about a tea party?"
Corinne scoffed. "Oh, stop being so dramatic, Falon. You are always playing the victim. It is exhausting."
Falon closed her eyes. The familiar sting of rejection hit her chest.
"You should learn from your sister," Corinne continued. "Charlee was an absolute angel today. She even charmed Mr. Roth into a minor distribution deal for the company."
Charlee Dale. The fake, adopted sister who spent her life stealing Falon's oxygen.
Falon opened her eyes. The sadness vanished, replaced by cold fury. She lifted the glass and downed the whiskey. The alcohol burned a path down her throat.
"I am calling off the engagement with Jerod," Falon said flatly.
The line went dead silent.
Then, Corinne exploded. "Are you out of your mind?!"
"It is done," Falon said.
"You listen to me, you ungrateful brat," Corinne hissed. "Massey Holdings' stock is barely staying afloat. The only thing keeping the board happy is your marriage to the Mercer family. You will not ruin this!"
"I am not a corporate asset," Falon snapped.
"You are whatever I say you are!" Corinne yelled. "If you break this engagement, I will call Page Six. I will tell them all about the filthy foster home we pulled you out of. I will tell them how damaged you really are."
The threat hit Falon like a physical punch to the gut.
Her breath hitched. Memories of the dark, damp basement in the foster home flashed behind her eyes. The hunger. The bruises.
Corinne knew exactly where to twist the knife.
Falon stood frozen for one second. Two seconds.
Then, she looked at her reflection in the mirror above the bar cart. She saw the black Tom Ford suit. She saw the sharp, unyielding woman Bell Farrell had dressed her to be.
"Do it," Falon said. Her voice was made of ice. "Call them. I do not care anymore."
Corinne gasped. She had never heard Falon speak like this.
Corinne panicked. She changed tactics. "Falon, be reasonable. Tonight is the annual Massey Foundation Gala. You must bring Jerod. You have to show a united front."
"No."
"If you do not show up with him tonight," Corinne threatened, her voice shaking with rage, "your father will freeze your trust fund. You will have nothing."
Falon stared at her reflection. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her red lips.
"I will be at the gala," Falon said.
She hung up before Corinne could say another word.
Falon tossed the phone onto the sofa. Her chest heaved with adrenaline.
She walked into her massive walk-in closet. She bypassed the rows of soft pinks and elegant whites.
She looked down at the black suit she was wearing. It was a suit built for war.
She walked over to the hidden wall safe behind her shoe rack. She punched in the code.
She pulled out a thick manila folder. Inside were copies of the Massey Holdings internal ledgers. They detailed millions of dollars in embezzled funds by her father and Charlee. This was her leverage, her private weapon to force her father's hand and reclaim her inheritance. Exposing it publicly was a last resort.
Falon shoved the folder into her black leather clutch.
She grabbed her car keys. She walked out of the apartment without looking back.
Across the city, in the penthouse office of Farrell Enterprises, Bell sat behind his massive mahogany desk.
He stared at a live security feed on his monitor. It showed Falon walking out of her apartment building, her spine perfectly straight.
Bell's lips curved into a slow, predatory smile.
