Chapter 3 Chapter 3

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."