Darcie Mayo POV:
I didn't hesitate. I walked toward that table with the unnatural calm of a sleepwalker, my movements precise and robotic.
I picked up the thick stack of papers. The prenup. The paper felt cold, brittle, like it could shatter in my hands. I flipped to the final page. Hugh’s ostentatious signature was scrawled at the bottom, next to the empty line reserved for me.
My eyes scanned the table and landed on a silver cigar lighter, left there for one of the groomsmen. It felt heavy in my palm, a solid, unforgiving weight.
I walked to the end of the corridor, positioning myself directly beneath a small, circular smoke detector on the ceiling. I’d calculated the spot perfectly.
*Click.*
A small, orange flame flickered to life. I held it to the corner of the agreement. The paper curled instantly, turning black at the edges before catching fire.
I watched the flame consume his name, the fire reflected in my eyes, offering no warmth. It licked closer and closer to my fingers, and only when I felt the sear of the heat did I let go.
The burning papers fell into an ornate wastebasket below. The fire surged, a hungry, roaring thing that devoured the lies and the betrayal. Thick, acrid smoke billowed upwards, reaching the ceiling.
The first piercing shriek of the fire alarm shattered the hotel's silence. A moment later, the sprinkler system hissed to life, and a cold, artificial rain began to fall.
Chaos erupted. Doors flew open. People shouted and ran, their panicked cries echoing in the hallway.
I stood in the middle of it all, letting the icy water soak my silk robe, my hair, my skin. It felt like a baptism. It washed away the girl I used to be.
Calmly, I bent down and slipped off my heels. The Jimmy Choo shoes Hugh had given me for our engagement. I looked at them for a second, then tossed them into a nearby trash can filled with collecting water. Garbage.
Barefoot, I began to walk against the tide of fleeing guests. In the confusion, no one saw me. No one paid attention to the soaking, barefoot woman in a cashmere coat.
I ignored the elevators and pushed open the heavy door to the emergency stairwell, disappearing into the concrete-and-steel shadows.
I didn't stop until I was in the back alley, the cold night air hitting my wet clothes and making me shiver violently. The city smelled of rain and exhaust.
I pulled my phone from my coat pocket. It was miraculously dry. I dialed a number I had memorized, a number that didn't exist in any phone book. An encrypted line.
It was answered on the first ring. A man’s voice, steady and calm. "Miss?"
My own voice trembled, not from fear, but from the bone-deep cold. My words, however, were as solid as ice.
"Activate Plan B."
