The Neglected Wife Makes Her Spectacular Comeback

Ciel pushed through the revolving glass doors of the lobby and was immediately hit by a gust of chilly Manhattan air. Baylie was sitting at a small table at the outdoor café adjacent to the building, a pristine white Chanel suit making her stand out against the city's gray backdrop. She was stirring a latte, the picture of calm leisure.

Ciel pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. "What do you want, Baylie?"

Baylie smiled, a sweet, saccharine expression that didn't reach her eyes. She slid a check across the metal table. The number written on it had six zeros.

"This is the retainer for the foundation's case," Baylie said, her voice a soft purr. "Dion is so worried about you. He just wants this all to go away. Just take the case, Ciel. Be a good girl, and he'll tell his companies to come back to your firm."

Ciel didn't even glance at the check.

"Your foundation is a front, Baylie," Ciel said, her voice low and cutting. "You're using dual contracts to launder money from offshore accounts. It's sloppy. Amateur, really."

The smile on Baylie's face froze. A flicker of genuine panic flashed in her eyes.

"And if you ever come near me or my workplace again," Ciel continued, leaning forward slightly, "I will personally make an anonymous call to the IRS. I wonder how your charitable endeavors would hold up under a federal audit."

Baylie shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the pavement. In her haste, she knocked her knee against the wrought-iron table. The coffee cup wobbled precariously.

Her eyes, wide with fury, darted past Ciel to the street corner.

Ciel saw it too. A familiar black Maybach was pulling up to the curb.

Dion.

A cunning, predatory light entered Baylie's eyes. Her entire demeanor shifted in a split second.

She lunged forward, grabbing Ciel's wrist. Her voice suddenly became a high-pitched, desperate wail. "Please, Ciel! Don't do this! Don't ruin me! I'll do anything!"

Ciel was so stunned by the sudden act that she instinctively pulled her hand back.

It was all Baylie needed.

She threw herself backward, a perfectly executed stage fall. As she went down, her hand swept across the table, sending the ceramic coffee cup flying.

She landed on the ground in a heap of white Chanel and spilled latte. Her hand, by a stroke of calculated genius, scraped against the sharp, broken edge of the cup.

A thin line of red bloomed on the back of her pale, delicate hand.

The Maybach's door flew open. Dion was out of the car before it had even fully stopped, his face a mask of thunder.

He saw Baylie on the ground, crying. He saw the broken cup. He saw Ciel standing there.

He didn't hesitate. He shoved Ciel aside, sending her stumbling backward. The force of the push was so strong she nearly fell.

He dropped to one knee beside Baylie, his voice thick with panic. "Baylie! Oh my god, are you hurt?" He gently cradled her bleeding hand, his expression one of pure anguish.

Baylie leaned into his chest, her body wracked with theatrical sobs. "It's okay, Dion," she choked out. "She didn't mean to. I... I tripped."

The words, meant to sound like a defense, were the most potent accusation possible. They lit the final fuse on Dion's rage.

He whipped his head around, his eyes locking on Ciel with a look of such profound hatred it made her skin crawl.

"You are a monster," he spat, his voice trembling with fury. "A vicious, sick woman. To attack her in public? What is wrong with you?"

Ciel straightened up, her back ramrod straight. She looked at the scene before her-the powerful CEO cradling the weeping damsel-and a strange, hysterical bubble of laughter rose in her throat. It was a perfect cliché.

She didn't say a word in her own defense. What was the point? He wouldn't believe her. In his story, she was the villain. She had always been the villain.

A small crowd of onlookers had gathered, some of them her own colleagues from the office tower above. They were whispering, pointing.

Ciel met their curious, judgmental stares without flinching. Her gaze was as cold and hard as the city pavement.

She looked directly at Dion.

"You're blind," she said, her voice devoid of all emotion. "I wish you two a lifetime of happiness. You deserve each other."

Then she turned, pushed her way through the gawking crowd, and walked back toward the building, never once looking back.