Morning sunlight slashed through the hospital blinds.
Bridget sat propped up against the pillows. Her iPad rested on her lap. Her fingers flew across the screen, scrolling through heavily encrypted data streams on a dark web server, completely ignoring the dull sting beneath the fresh square bandage the nurse had placed over her right hand where she had ripped out the IV.
The rhythmic clicking of heels echoed in the corridor.
Bridget instantly locked the screen and shoved the iPad under her pillow.
The door swung open. Jayson walked in, wearing a sharp navy suit. Right behind him was Golda, dressed in a pristine Chanel tweed set, holding Pippa's hand.
Jayson walked to the side of the bed. He adjusted his collar, pasting a look of deep concern onto his face. "Does your head still hurt, darling?"
Bridget stared at his perfectly styled hair. Bile rose in the back of her throat.
"I'll live," she said flatly.
Golda stepped forward. She placed a massive bouquet of white lilies on the nightstand. She touched her collarbone, her eyes wide and watery. "We were so terrified when we heard about the crash, Bridget."
Bridget caught the micro-expression. Behind the fake tears, Golda's eyes gleamed with a sharp, triumphant mockery.
Pippa let go of Golda's hand. The little girl ran around the hospital room, waving a plastic toy airplane.
She crashed directly into Bridget's nightstand.
The full glass of warm water tipped over. It shattered on the floor, soaking Bridget's slippers.
Bridget's eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to speak.
Jayson moved faster. He scooped Pippa up into his arms, shielding her.
"She's just a child, Bridget," Jayson said sharply, his tone laced with warning. "Don't look at her like that. You'll frighten her."
Bridget let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Am I supposed to smile and applaud while she trashes my room?"
Jayson's jaw clenched. "You're acting like a spoiled brat again. It's exhausting."
He set Pippa down and cleared his throat. He looked down at Bridget with the arrogant authority of a CEO giving an order.
"I've made a decision," Jayson said. "Josh's widow needs stability. I've moved Golda and Pippa into the Tribeca penthouse."
Bridget's blood ran cold. The Tribeca penthouse was the property she had begged Jayson to sell her last year so she could build a private art studio. He had told her it wasn't on the market.
Golda looked down, playing with her fingers. "It's too much, Jayson. But Pippa really needs the school district."
Jayson patted Golda's shoulder. He looked back at Bridget.
"I've already spoken to Archer about it. He agrees that providing for Pippa's education is a worthy use of the family's philanthropic funds. We'll be reallocating a portion of the educational quota."
Bridget stared at him. She didn't blink.
"In your dreams," Bridget said softly.
Jayson's face flushed red. His ego bruised instantly.
"You are incredibly selfish," Jayson raised his voice, pointing a finger at her. "That money is a rounding error for the trust. You have zero compassion."
Bridget held his gaze. "Cline Medical hasn't even gone public yet, and you're already giving away my family's money to your charity cases."
Jayson stepped forward, his fists clenched. "Watch your mouth."
Golda grabbed Jayson's sleeve. She sniffled, her voice trembling. "Please, don't fight because of us. We can move out today."
Jayson grabbed Golda's hand and squeezed it. He glared at Bridget. "Nobody is kicking you out."
Bridget watched his thumb stroke Golda's knuckles. The exact same gesture from the Hamptons.
She leaned back against the pillows. She let her muscles relax, slipping the mask of the brainless socialite perfectly back into place.
"Whatever," Bridget sighed, rolling her eyes. "Just don't touch the limit on my black card."
Jayson sneered. He thought he had won. He wrapped his arm around Golda and guided her out of the room.
The door clicked shut.
Bridget stared at the puddle of water on the floor. In her mind, she had just signed Jayson's death warrant.
