Too Late, Mr. Forbes: Watch Me Shine

Hayden stared at the closed door. The silence in the room was deafening.

She placed her hands flat on the rug and pushed herself up. Her knees trembled slightly, but she locked them into place. She brushed her palms against her jeans.

She walked out of the closet and stopped in front of the vanity mirror. Her face was pale, her lips swollen and slightly bruised.

She pulled open the top drawer of the vanity. She grabbed the heavy Cartier diamond necklace and the Patek Philippe watch. She dumped them onto the glass surface. The jewels clattered loudly.

She reached into her back pocket, pulled out her wallet, and slid out the sleek, heavy black card with August's name on it. She dropped it right on top of the diamonds.

She turned back to the closet. She walked past the designer clothes again and stopped at a garment bag hanging in the far corner.

She unzipped the plastic. Inside hung a simple, unbranded white cotton dress. It was the first thing August had ever bought her, back when they were just college students, back when his eyes held warmth instead of control.

She took it off the hanger. She folded it carefully, pressing the fabric flat, and laid it on top of her old sweaters in the suitcase.

She grabbed the zipper and pulled it shut. The metal teeth locked together with a final, decisive snap.

She gripped the handle, lifted the suitcase, and walked out of the bedroom. She didn't look back. She pulled the door shut behind her.

She carried the suitcase down the sweeping staircase. Halfway down, she saw Beulah walking up, carrying a silver tea tray.

Beulah stopped. Her eyes darted to the suitcase, then back to Hayden's face. A smug, victorious smile spread across the housekeeper's face. She stepped to the side, pressing her back against the banister.

"Good riddance," Beulah whispered, her voice dripping with poison.

Hayden stopped one step above her. She looked down at the older woman. Her heart beat in a slow, steady rhythm.

"I've choked on the rot in this house for seven years," Hayden said, her voice perfectly level. "Enjoy the smell."

Beulah's smile vanished. Her hands gripped the silver tray so hard her knuckles turned white.

Hayden stepped past her. She walked across the foyer, grabbed the handle of the heavy oak door, and pulled it open.

The freezing wind hit her face again, but this time, it felt like oxygen.

She dragged the suitcase down the long, paved driveway. The plastic wheels ground loudly against the asphalt. The towering oak trees on either side of the path cast long, dark shadows over her.

As she neared the massive wrought-iron gates, two security guards stepped out of the booth. They looked at her, then at the suitcase. The taller guard held up his hand.

"Miss Simmons, Mr. Forbes didn't authorize-"

"Are you detaining me against my will?" Hayden cut him off. Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass. "Because false imprisonment is a felony. Open the gate."

The guard hesitated. He looked at his partner. August had told them to keep her inside, but he hadn't given the order to physically restrain her. "We have to call Mr. Pryce first," the guard said, his hand hovering over his radio. Hayden didn't flinch. She held up her phone, the screen already dialed to her attorney's number. "By the time you finish that call, my lawyer will have the police on the line. Let's see if the Forbes family wants 'false imprisonment' trending on the news before the markets open. You decide." The guard swallowed hard, weighing the wrath of his boss against a massive public relations nightmare that would undoubtedly cost him his job anyway. He exchanged another tight look with his partner.

The guard pressed the button. The heavy iron gates slowly groaned open.

Hayden walked through them. She pulled her phone from her pocket and ordered an Uber.

She stood on the curb, the cold seeping through her thin coat. She turned her head and looked back at the sprawling Forbes Estate. It looked like a massive, dark tomb.

A yellow cab pulled up to the curb. The driver popped the trunk and got out to help her lift the suitcase.

Hayden slid into the backseat. The car smelled faintly of stale smoke and cheap pine air freshener. She closed her eyes and inhaled it deeply.

"Where to, miss?" the driver asked, looking at her in the rearview mirror.

She gave him the address of a cheap motel in a rundown neighborhood in lower Manhattan.

The cab pulled away from the curb. Hayden watched the estate shrink in the side mirror until it disappeared completely. Her chest, tight for seven years, finally expanded. She let out a long, shaky breath.

Twenty minutes later, the cab slowed down as it merged onto the main avenue. Hayden looked out the window.

The grand, classical architecture of Columbia University loomed in the distance.

Her fingers tightened around the seatbelt. The rough nylon dug into her skin. She stared at the journalism building until the cab drove past it, her heart pounding a heavy, painful rhythm against her ribs.