The cold foundation trickled across my collarbone, thick and greasy, staining the custom ivory silk in grotesque beige streaks.

The moment the backstage curtains fell behind me, the air felt thin and electric. Maya was waiting, tears streaming down her face, her hands outstretched.

“Serena... oh my god, Serena,” she choked out, wrapping her arms around me in a tight, protective embrace. “You did it. You actually burned him down on statewide television.”

“It’s not over,” I whispered, breathing through the adrenaline that made my fingers shake. “He’s going to strike back. Where is Detective Vance?”

Before Maya could answer, the backstage double doors banged open against the wall.

Daniel marched through, his tuxedo jacket flapping open, his necktie yanked loose. He looked unhinged. His hair, usually combed to slick perfection, was falling over his forehead, and his eyes were wild with predatory fury.

“You psychotic bitch!” he roared, lunging toward me. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? My investors are sitting in that room! My board—!”

“Step back, Mr. Blake.”

A tall, broad-shouldered man in a charcoal suit stepped smoothly between Daniel and me. Detective Marcus Vance of the State Financial Crimes Division had a jaw carved from slate and eyes that saw through every lie Daniel had ever told.

Daniel skidded to a halt, glaring at the badge clipped to Vance’s belt. “Who the hell are you? Get out of my way! This is my wife!”

“Actually, Daniel,” Marcus said, pulling a folded legal document from his breast pocket, “tonight, she’s the chief complaining witness in a grand jury investigation.”

Daniel blinked, the color draining completely from his skin. “What... what are you talking about?”

From around the corner of the hallway, two uniformed state troopers appeared, escorting Camille. She was no longer looking smug. Her mascara was smeared down her cheeks, her emerald dress crumpled, and her hands were secured behind her back in steel handcuffs.

“Daniel!” Camille shrieked, her voice shrill with hysterics. “Tell them! Tell them you made me sign those papers! Tell them it was your idea!”

“Shut up, Camille!” Daniel yelled, his voice cracking.

“No, you shut up!” Camille cried out, struggling against the officer’s grip. “He told me if I put my name on the shell company in the Caymans, we’d have five million dollars to start our new life in London! He said Serena was an idiot who never read the board attachments! He set me up!”

I watched the man I had shared a bed with for four years slowly unravel.

“Three weeks ago,” I said quietly, stepping out from behind Detective Vance, “I didn’t just find the receipts for your weekend in Aspen with Camille, Daniel. I found the unauthorized bank transfers from the Harbor House building fund.”

Daniel stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.

“Did you really think I didn’t audit my own charity?” I asked him. “Did you think because I was your wife, because I cared about people, that I was stupid? You had Camille sign as the beneficial owner of ‘Apex Ridge Holdings.’ You used her greed to create a buffer between you and the stolen endowment money.”

“Serena, listen to me,” Daniel sputtered, suddenly trying to adopt his soothing, persuasive tone. He took a pleading step toward me. “It was a bridge loan. Just a temporary reallocation to cover market shortfalls. I was going to pay it back before the fiscal year closed! Serena, baby, please... you know I love you. Camille meant nothing. She was a mistake!”

Camille let out a feral scream of betrayal from down the hall. “You bastard! You told me you loved me last night in the hotel suite!”

“Take her down to the cruiser,” Detective Vance instructed the troopers. They led the sobbing, screaming girl away through the service exit.

Marcus turned his full, merciless attention to my husband.

“Daniel Blake, you have the right to remain silent,” Marcus said, reaching behind his back for his cuffs. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“You can’t arrest me here!” Daniel panicked, glancing around wildly at the hotel staff and backstage crew who were filming everything on their phones. “My lawyer is upstairs! Call Julian right now!”

Marcus caught Daniel’s left wrist with practiced, effortless strength, twisting it behind his back with a sharp click of steel. “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

Daniel groaned as the second cuff clicked shut. He looked at me over his shoulder, his eyes venomous.

“You’re finished, Serena,” he spat, venom dripping from every syllable. “Without my name, without my family’s money, Harbor House will starve. My father will bury you in civil lawsuits until you don’t have a dime left to feed yourself!”

I looked down at the diamond eagle gleaming on my torn gown.

“Your father is welcome to try, Daniel. But as of tonight... your name isn't worth the paper it’s printed on.”