The bucket was heavier than it looked.

Cassidy noticed that first.

Diane Morrison had to lift it with both hands, bracelets sliding down her wrists as she stood at the head of the polished dining table and smiled as if she were about to make a toast.

Instead, she tipped the silver bucket forward and dumped a wave of half-melted ice water over Cassidy’s head, shoulders, and lap.

The cold hit like glass.

Cassidy sucked in a breath so sharply it hurt her throat.

Water streamed down her hair, soaked through the pale blue maternity dress she had worn because Diane had insisted the dinner was meant to be “civil” and “family focused” for the sake of the baby.

The unborn child inside her kicked hard, a sudden frightened movement that made Cassidy’s hand fly to her stomach.

Diane set the empty bucket on the tablecloth and gave a small shrug.

“Oops,” she said.

Then she laughed at her own lie.

“Try to see the positive side,” Diane added, lifting her wineglass.

“At least you’re clean now.”

Brendan leaned back in his chair and laughed with her, not even pretending to be shocked.

Across from him, Jessica, the woman Cassidy had discovered in Brendan’s hotel suite three months before the divorce became final, covered her mouth with manicured fingers and let out a polished little giggle.

“Please tell me someone brought an old towel,” Jessica said.

“I would hate for the expensive linens to absorb…

whatever that smell is.”

The house staff froze against the walls.

No one moved.

Cassidy sat dripping onto the Persian rug, the antique one Diane bragged about to every guest who stepped inside the mansion.

Cassidy had approved the restoration budget for that rug during a facilities review three years earlier.

At the time, Diane had no idea the signature authorizing the expense belonged to the same woman she now treated like a stray dog who had wandered in from the rain.

That was the strange thing about power.

The people who worshipped it were often the worst at recognizing it when it was quiet.

Cassidy wiped water out of one eye and looked around the room.

The chandelier light gleamed across silverware, crystal, and the smug faces of people who believed she had nowhere to go and no one to protect her.

Since the separation, the Morrisons had built an entire story about her.

She was the needy ex-wife.

The burden.

The woman Brendan had been generous enough to marry and wise enough to leave.

They liked that story because it made them feel important.

They liked it even more because Cassidy had never corrected them.

She had never told Brendan that the private holding company listed in shareholder documents was hers.

She had never told Diane that the quiet family trust Arthur managed answered to one person.

She had never told any of them that the company they treated like a family throne had only ever belonged to one family, and it was not theirs.

Her sadness burned off in the cold.

What remained was focus.

Cassidy reached into her leather bag and took out her phone.

Jessica laughed.

“Who are you calling? A charity hotline?”

Diane sighed theatrically.

“Brendan, give her enough for a taxi.

I’d rather not spend the whole night