I Am Not Your Pawn Anymore

The Uber driver hesitated at the wrought-iron gates of the Meyers estate in East Hampton.

"You on the list, miss?"

"I'm the Chief of Staff," Anaya said, flashing an old ID she hadn't turned in. "Open it."

The gate swung open.

The party was in full swing. The bass of the house music thumped against the car windows. White tents, champagne towers, and a sea of people in linen and silk.

Anaya got out. She kept her sunglasses on. She wasn't here to socialize. She moved through the crowd like a ghost, heading toward the guest cottage.

"Well, look who decided to show up."

Anaya stopped.

Adele Townsend stood on the slate patio overlooking the infinity pool. She was holding a flute of champagne, surrounded by her court of socialites. She was wearing a white bikini and a sheer cover-up, looking every inch the future Mrs. Meyers.

Anaya tried to step around her. "Move, Adele."

Adele stepped into her path. "Did you come to beg for your job back? Or did you come to apologize for that little scene in the office?"

The music seemed to dip. People turned to watch. This was the entertainment. The heiress vs. the help.

Barrett was near the bar, talking to a group of investors. He turned, his eyes locking onto Anaya. He started walking toward them.

Adele leaned in close, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You know, Barrett told me about your father. The gambler. The drunk. We all know you're just a gold digger, Anaya. You spread your legs for the boss hoping for a payout, and now you're mad the contract is terminated."

The rage that hit Anaya was cold. Absolute zero.

In her past life, she would have cried. She would have run away, confirming every rumor.

Not today.

Anaya looked at Adele's feet. She was standing on the wet slate, right at the edge of the pool, in four-inch wedges.

Physics.

Anaya didn't say a word. She simply reached out, placed her palm flat against Adele's shoulder, and shoved.

It wasn't a playful push. It was a solid, forceful thrust.

Adele's eyes went wide. Her arms windmilled.

Splash!

The sound was incredibly satisfying. Water sprayed over the expensive guests. The music cut out abruptly.

Adele surfaced, sputtering. Her hair extensions were plastered to her face, her mascara running instantly. She looked like a drowned rat.

"You bitch!" she screamed, thrashing in the water.

Barrett reached the edge of the pool. He looked from Adele to Anaya, his face a mixture of shock and fury. He didn't jump in immediately; he just stared at Anaya.

"Have you lost your mind?" he roared.

Anaya stood on the edge, looking down at them. She felt ten feet tall.

"No," she said calmly. "I found it."

She reached into her purse. She pulled out a piece of paper. It was a formal, printed resignation letter. She had folded it into a sharp paper airplane.

She flicked her wrist.

The paper plane glided through the air, looping once before landing softly on the surface of the pool, bobbing right in front of Barrett's face.

"Consider that my formal notice," she said. "We're done, Barrett. In every sense of the word."

She turned her back on them.

A hush had fallen over the party. She could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on her back, but she didn't care.

She walked to the guest cottage, keyed in the code, and opened the safe. Her passport. A stack of cash. She shoved them into her bag.

She walked out the back gate, where her Uber was waiting.

As the car pulled away, she didn't look back at the mansion. She didn't look back at the chaos she had caused. She looked forward.

One bridge burned. One to go.