The private elevator doors slid open, spilling Alyson directly into the massive, two-story penthouse overlooking Central Park.
The main lights were off.
The city glow from the floor-to-ceiling windows stretched the shadows of the minimalist furniture across the hardwood floor.
She walked straight to the master bedroom.
She pulled a large black Rimowa suitcase from the closet and dropped it flat onto the rug.
She ignored the rows of custom haute couture dresses Kenton's assistant had delivered each season.
Instead, she opened the bottom drawers and pulled out the faded sweaters and simple jeans she had brought into this marriage.
As her hand brushed the back of the drawer, her fingers grazed against a small, rusted brass key. It was the key to a hidden safe in the Holt family estate-the absolute last remaining thing her biological mother had left her before she was thrown into the foster system. She gripped the cold metal tightly, feeling its sharp edges ground her racing pulse, before deliberately slipping it into the concealed inner pocket of her handbag.
She was shoving three thick veterinary medicine textbooks into the corner of the suitcase when the electronic chime of the front door lock echoed through the quiet apartment.
Alyson's hands froze.
She had not expected Kenton to leave his own birthday party this early.
Heavy, uneven footsteps moved down the hallway.
Kenton appeared in the doorway of the master bedroom, bringing the sharp smell of alcohol and cold rain into the room.
He had loosened his tie, his collar unbuttoned, his chest rising and falling heavily.
He stared down at the open suitcase on the floor, a deep crease forming between his brows.
"How long are you going to keep this up?"
His voice was thick with suppressed rage and exhaustion.
Alyson did not look at him.
She grabbed the zipper of the suitcase and pulled it shut, the harsh metal grinding sound filling the tense air.
Kenton stepped forward and kicked the side of the suitcase with his leather shoe.
The heavy luggage slid across the floor and slammed into the foot of the bed.
Alyson finally stood up, her eyes locking onto his with the blankness of a stranger.
Kenton reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
He pulled out a heavy metal American Express Centurion card and tossed it onto the mattress.
"Here is your compensation. Go to Paris or Milan. Buy whatever you want, but stop annoying me with these cheap stunts."
He still believed the word divorce was just a negotiation tactic for a higher allowance.
Alyson looked down at the black card, the ultimate symbol of endless wealth.
A dry, hollow laugh scraped its way out of her throat.
"Do you really think everyone in the world has a price tag, Kenton?"
She took a step toward him, refusing to back down.
"Keep the card for Chelsea. She needs it a lot more than I do."
The mention of Chelsea's name made the muscles in Kenton's jaw tighten dangerously.
"You don't have the right to speak her name."
"You're right. I don't." Alyson kept her voice dangerously calm. "That's why I am giving her the position of Mrs. Whitaker."
She walked past him, grabbed the handle of her suitcase, and pulled it upright.
"The papers will be at your office tomorrow. Sign them."
Kenton's hand shot out.
His fingers clamped around her wrist like a steel vice, the pressure grinding her bones together.
"Alyson, do you honestly think that bloodsucking father of yours will even acknowledge you if you leave me?" he hissed, his breath hot against her face.
A sharp spike of pain shot up her arm, but she dug her free fingernails into her palm, refusing to flinch.
"That is none of your concern."
She ripped her arm out of his grip with a violent jerk.
The momentum sent her stumbling backward, her shoulder slamming hard into the wooden doorframe.
Kenton stared at his empty hand, a strange flash of panic crossing his eyes before his arrogance swallowed it whole.
"Fine! If you walk out that door, don't expect a single cent from me!" he roared.
Alyson gave him one final, empty look.
She dragged her suitcase out of the master bedroom.
She did not leave the apartment, knowing the storm outside was getting worse.
She walked down the long hallway to the guest room at the far end.
She stepped inside, pulled the door shut, and turned the deadbolt.
The sharp click of the lock echoed in the dark room, shutting Kenton and this toxic marriage out of her life for good.
