He thought he had cut off my access to our joint account.

He had no idea that he had just triggered the very clause that would lock him out of everything.

The refrigerator hummed in the quiet kitchen.

I heard the front door of the penthouse click open.

A soft laugh echoed from the foyer.

Sloane’s voice drifted into the dark apartment.

“Nathan?” she called out. “I forgot my color swatches.”

I stood frozen by the island, the cold glass in my hand.

Nathan stood up from the sofa, his footsteps heading toward the door.

“You shouldn’t have come back tonight,” he murmured to her.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

I walked slowly out of the kitchen, stepping into the dim hallway.

The front door was half-open, casting a wedge of yellow light across the floor.

Sloane was standing there, her coat draped over her arm, a smirk on her lips as she looked past Nathan toward the hallway.

She saw me.

Her smirk did not fade; it only widened.

“Oh, Catherine,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.

“You’re still up.”