The next morning, the penthouse was silent. The rain had stopped, leaving a crisp, bright light that illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air.
Jada walked into the dining room. She wasn't wearing pajamas. She was wearing a sharp white blazer and tailored black trousers. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun.
Darius was already at the table, picking at a plate of eggs. He looked up, eyeing her attire suspiciously.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked. "You know the rules."
"Nowhere," Jada said calmly. She poured herself a cup of black coffee. She didn't sit down. "I have a proposal."
Darius put down his fork. He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. "I'm listening."
"I will give her the liver," Jada said.
Darius relaxed visibly. The tension that had been holding his shoulders up near his ears melted away. He let out a breath. "Good. I knew you would be rational. It's the right thing to do."
"On one condition," Jada interrupted.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a cocktail napkin. She slid it across the polished mahogany table.
There was one word written on it in black ink.
DIVORCE.
Darius stared at the napkin. His jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his cheek.
"We can discuss the state of our marriage after the surgery," he said dismissively. "You're emotional right now."
"No," Jada slammed her hand on the table. The coffee cups rattled. "Papers signed and filed before anesthesia. Or I don't get on the table. And you can explain to your dying girlfriend why you couldn't save her."
Darius looked at her. Really looked at her. He saw the resolve in her eyes. It terrified him.
"Why?" he asked, genuinely confused. "I can provide for you. I can set you up for life. Even if we separate, staying married gives you access to the Long Trust."
"I don't want your money," Jada said. "I want one thing. A trust, set up and fully funded, for the Pinecrest Nursing Home. Enough to cover my grandmother's care for the rest of her life, with no strings attached. No way for you to ever touch it again. The rest of your fortune can go to hell with you. I want my name back. I want out."
Darius felt a strange pang in his chest. Panic? Why? He wanted the liver. She was giving him the liver. Why did the thought of her wanting nothing from him but a clean break make him feel like he was falling?
"You're making this transactional," he argued, trying to use logic. "A trust is complicated. It takes time."
"I don't care. I'll recover in a motel 6 if I have to. Draft the settlement."
Darius stared at her, looking for the bluff. He saw only dead eyes.
"Fine," he snapped, angry that she wanted to leave him so badly. Angry that his threats meant less to her than her freedom.
He picked up his phone and dialed Harrison. "Get the legal team. Urgent divorce settlement. Uncontested. And set up the Pinecrest Trust. Immediately."
Jada nodded. "I'll be in my room until the lawyers arrive."
Darius watched her walk away. He felt like he was losing control, even though he had just gotten exactly what he wanted.
Four hours later, the living area had been transformed into a war room. Three lawyers in gray suits sat around the coffee table, stacks of paperwork covering the surface.
Jada emerged. She sat down and picked up the settlement agreement.
It was generous. Obscenely generous. Ten million dollars. The beach house in the Hamptons. An alimony payment of fifty thousand a month for five years. And a separate, ironclad document for the Pinecrest Trust.
Jada uncapped a pen. She drew a large X through the entire financial section related to her.
"I said I don't want your money," she repeated, pushing the trust document to the side. "This is the only part I'll sign for."
The lead lawyer, a man named Mr. Sterling, looked shocked. "Mrs. Long, this is standard-"
"Cross it out," Jada ordered. "I leave with what I came with. My clothes. My car. That's it."
Harrison looked at Darius. Darius was standing by the window, his back to the room. He turned around, his face furious.
Her refusal of the money made her independent. It meant he had no hold on her. It meant she wasn't leaving because she was greedy or angry; she was leaving because she was done.
"Take the damn money, Jada!" he yelled. "Don't be a martyr!"
"Just the signature, Darius," she held out the pen to him.
Darius marched over. He snatched the pen from her hand. He signed his name on the designated line, pressing down so hard the nib tore through the paper.
"Happy?" he snarled, throwing the pen down.
"Not yet," Jada whispered. She looked at the torn signature. "We have to finalize it at the firm tomorrow. In front of a notary."
"Fine," Darius said. "Tomorrow morning. Then we go straight to the hospital."
He stormed out to the terrace, slamming the glass door behind him so hard the panes rattled.
Jada looked at the lawyers. "Thank you, gentlemen."
She stood up and walked away.
