Jazmin left the penthouse wearing a black trench coat and a pair of sunglasses that hid her unnervingly calm eyes. The knuckles on her right hand were slightly bruised, the only visible sign of the morning's violence.
Two of the Garrett family's private security guards, men built like refrigerators, moved to block her path at the private elevator.
"Mrs. Garrett, Arthur has instructed that you are to remain in the residence."
Jazmin didn't break her stride. She just looked at them, her gaze lingering for a half-second on the blood that was still dried under her fingernails.
The guards flinched and took a simultaneous step back, clearing her path.
She drove Adrian's ridiculously expensive sports car, the engine a low growl in the Manhattan traffic. She didn't go to the nearest hospital. She went to the discreet, ultra-exclusive private clinic on the Upper East Side that the Garretts used for all their... sensitive medical needs.
She found Carlene Garrett in the VIP wing's waiting area. Dressed in a Chanel suit that probably cost more than a car, Adrian's mother was screaming at a terrified nurse.
"What do you mean you can't give him more morphine? Do you know who my son is?"
Then she saw Jazmin. Her perfectly made-up face contorted into a mask of rage.
"You!" Carlene shrieked, her voice echoing in the sterile hallway. She stormed toward Jazmin, her hand raised, nails like claws aimed for Jazmin's face.
Jazmin simply tilted her head to the side. The slap missed entirely. As Carlene's arm swung past, Jazmin caught her wrist. She applied the slightest pressure, twisting it backward.
A high-pitched scream of pain ripped from Carlene's throat. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor, her expensive suit crumpling around her.
Jazmin leaned down, her lips close to Carlene's ear, her voice a low whisper only they could hear. A flicker of data, crisp and clear, surfaced in her mind-a character file. "What a useful database," she thought, before speaking the words aloud. "Melody Vance. Apartment 15B at the Olympia Tower. Paid for with a wire transfer from the Garrett family trust three months ago. I have the receipts."
The color drained from Carlene's face. She hated Adrian's affairs, but what she feared more than anything was a public scandal. The thought of her friends in the charity circle whispering about her son being duped by a gold-digger was more painful to her than any physical threat.
Jazmin released her wrist. She pulled a folded document from her trench coat pocket-a new divorce agreement-and dropped it onto Carlene's pristine Hermès bag.
"The downtown penthouse, thirty percent of the liquid assets, and a one-time alimony payment. The number is on the last page," Jazmin said coolly.
"This is robbery!" Carlene hissed, cradling her wrist.
Jazmin smiled, a cold, empty thing. She pulled out her phone and showed Carlene the screen. It was a crystal-clear security still of Adrian and Melody, tangled together in a hotel elevator, dated from a week ago.
"You have five minutes to get his signature. After that, this photo goes to the New York Post. I hear their gossip column pays well."
Just then, the door to the VIP suite opened. A nurse pushed a wheelchair out. Slumped in it was Adrian, his head wrapped in bandages, his face a swollen, discolored mess. His eyes, barely visible through the swelling, burned with pure hatred when he saw Jazmin.
Behind the wheelchair, Arthur stood with his head bowed, refusing to meet her gaze.
"You're insane," Adrian rasped, his voice hoarse and broken. "I'll have you committed. You'll die in a padded cell."
Jazmin walked toward him. She gently tapped a finger on the plaster cast covering his shoulder. The touch was light, almost delicate, but it made him recoil as if he'd been burned.
"If you go to jail for assault, Adrian," she said softly, "who will Melody climb into bed with next? Another billionaire? Or maybe just his son?"
The last vestiges of his pride shattered. His whole identity was built on power and control, and she had stripped it all away. He snatched the papers from his mother's lap, his hand trembling violently.
"Adrian, don't!" Carlene pleaded.
Jazmin shot her a look. A silent, glacial warning. Carlene froze.
With a choked sob of fury and humiliation, Adrian scrawled his name on the signature line. The pen nib tore through the paper.
Jazmin plucked the agreement from his lap. She folded it neatly and tucked it into her coat.
She turned to leave.
"Ma'am?" Arthur's voice was tight, strained. "Will you be needing dinner prepared this evening?"
Jazmin paused at the end of the hall. She looked back at the terrified butler, the seething mother, and the broken son.
"No need, Arthur," she corrected him. "I won't be coming back."
Arthur watched her go, his eyes fixed on the way her trench coat moved without a single wrinkle, as if it were draped over a statue. He was certain of it now. The woman who had just left was not Mrs. Garrett. She was something else entirely. A demon wearing his mistress's skin.
Outside, in the car, Jazmin looked at the signed paper. A small, satisfied smile touched her lips.
A notification popped up in her vision.
`[MAIN_QUEST: 'ESCAPE THE MARRIAGE' - PROGRESS: 80%]`
But it was immediately followed by another, flashing in urgent red.
`[WARNING: EXTERNAL HIGH-DIMENSION GAZE DETECTED. HOST COORDINATES ARE BEING LOCKED.]`
