---- Chapter 8 8 She started with the photographs. Albums filled with smiling faces, exotic locations, moments of feigned happiness. She fed them into the shredder, one by one. Letters he'd written her, poems, silly notes. Shredded. Gifts he'd given her over the years - the ones not valuable enough for auction - she boxed them up for donation to a generic charity. She went into his vast walk-in closet, to the section that held her clothes. She packed only what she needed for her new life. Practical, anonymous. The designer gowns, the expensive shoes, the symbols of Maya Goldstein - she left them hanging. Her final act of destruction was the most satisfying. She called the landscape company that serviced their Hamptons estate. "This is Maya Goldstein," she said, her voice calm and authoritative. "| want the white rose garden bulldozed. Today. All of it. Level it" There was a stunned silence, then a hesitant, "Mrs. Goldstein, are you sure? Mr. Goldstein loves that garden." ---- "I'm sure," Maya said. "Consider it a... very early anniversary surprise for him." The morning of her departure. Two weeks to the day since she'd given Liam the box. He returned unexpectedly, looking rumpled and tired, but with a small, hopeful smile. He was carrying a box of cronuts from her favorite Brooklyn bakery. An old apology ritual from early in their relationship. "Peace offering?" he said, trying to sound lighthearted. "| know I've been... distracted." Maya played along. Acted normal. Thanked him for the cronuts. He looked relieved. "So, we're good?" "We're good," she lied. Then his phone rang. The special ringtone he used for Ava. He winced. "Work call," he said, already moving towards the door. "Gotta take this. Big client." He practically ran out. Maya watched from the window. She saw him meet Ava on the street corner below their building. Ava, looking perfectly healthy, no longer pale or distressed. He kissed her, a long, lingering kiss. Then they got into a waiting car and drove off together. His choice. So clearly made. ---- Maya took out her burner phone. She sent Liam a single text message: "The two weeks are up. You can open your gift now." Then, she meticulously forwarded him every single taunting message, every photo, every sonogram image Ava had sent her. Let him see the poison his mistress had been spewing. Let him understand the full scope of what he had done, what he had allowed. She removed the SIM card from her burner phone, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the nearly empty cronut box. She picked up her single, unremarkable suitcase. Her new identity documents, her new life, waited in a secure envelope inside. Maya Evans walked out of the penthouse, out of Maya Goldstein's life, without a backward glance. She didn't take the private elevator. She took the service elevator. A cab was waiting, pre-booked by the Phoenix Initiative. Destination: JFK Airport. One-way ticket to an unknown future.