“Mr. Farrell sent this as a compensation package,” he said, raising his voice over the rain.
Ayla didn’t reach for it. She looked down at the open box. Resting on the black velvet was an American Express Centurion Black Card – no credit limit.
“Mr. Farrell’s conditions are simple,” Jared said quickly. “You log back into the PR servers right now, issue a statement saying your Twitter account was hacked, fix the stock price, and this card is yours. No limits. No questions asked.”
Ayla stared at the heavy piece of black titanium.
For three years, that card had been the leash Axel used to control her. He had let her spend half a million dollars in haute couture just to remind her that she owned nothing without his signature.
A slow, freezing smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.
She reached into her handbag, pulled out a blank note card and a black marker, and pressed it against her knee. She wrote down a single number.
Then she reached through the window gap and slapped the paper flat against Jared’s wet chest.
“The fee for a Code Black crisis protocol is ten million dollars,” Ayla said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “It’s a term he’ll understand. And I don’t do credit.”
Jared looked down at the card. His eyes went wide. He stared at the string of zeros.
“Are you out of your mind?” he stammered, his professional mask slipping. “You’re extorting your own husband!”
“Farrell Tech’s pre-market valuation just bled three hundred million dollars,” Ayla replied smoothly, leaning back in her seat. “Ten million to stop the bleeding is a family discount.”
Before Jared could argue, his phone began vibrating violently in his pocket. He pulled it out, fumbled with the screen, and accidentally hit the speakerphone button.
Axel’s voice exploded into the cab.
“Has she fixed the damn Twitter post yet?!” The sheer volume made the cab driver flinch.
Ayla leaned closer to the window and looked directly at the phone in Jared’s hand.
“Ten million dollars, Axel,” she said, her voice cutting through the rain. “Wire it to my offshore account, or watch your board of directors vote you out by Friday.”
Dead silence on the other end of the line. A beat of controlled, seething fury.
“Ayla, be reasonable.” Axel’s voice dropped, a strained attempt at negotiation laced with menace. “You’ve made your point. Take the card. Take a vacation. We’ll sort this out when you’ve calmed down.”
Ayla said nothing. Her silence was a void he couldn’t control, and it drove him past the edge.
The sound of something heavy smashing against a wall cracked through the speaker.
“You greedy, delusional bitch!” Axel screamed. “You think you’re a player in this game? You’re nothing! You are a fake heiress – thrown out of the Joyce family because you have the dirty, worthless blood of a drug addict running through your veins!”
A sharp, physical pain shot through Ayla’s chest, like a hot needle piercing her heart.
“Without my money, you don’t belong in this zip code,” Axel snarled, his breathing ragged. “You’ll be sleeping in a homeless shelter in the Bronx by the end of the week, waiting in line for food stamps.”
Ayla didn’t cry. She didn’t scream.
The pain in her chest froze over instantly, solidifying into a block of ice.
“Thank you for the reminder, Axel,” she said. Her voice was so calm it was terrifying.
She reached her hand through the window and snatched the velvet box from Jared’s grip. For a split second, relief washed over his face – he thought she had finally yielded.
Ayla rolled the window all the way down. She looked Jared dead in the eyes, turned her wrist, and tipped the Black Card out of the box.
The titanium card fell through the rain, hit the pavement with a sharp clink, and slid directly into the muddy, trash-filled grate of the street sewer.
Jared stumbled back a step in sheer horror.
“From this second on, I am done with the Farrell family,” Ayla said clearly, loud enough for the phone. “I’ll see you in divorce court.”
She hit the window button, rolling it up fast.
“Drive,” she told the cab driver. “Go around them. Now.”
The driver floored the gas. The yellow cab swerved hard, its tires throwing a massive wave of dirty street water across Jared’s suit as it accelerated away.
Ayla fell back against the vinyl seat and let out a long, shaky breath. Her hands were trembling – not from fear, but from pure adrenaline.
She pulled out her burner phone and opened her banking app.
The screen loaded. Available balance: three hundred and forty-two dollars.
The ten-million-dollar invoice had felt extraordinary to say, but the physical reality was crushing. She couldn’t walk into the Gilliam Group headquarters looking like a desperate, broke woman. Cassius Gilliam would eat her alive.
She needed real capital.
She dialed Chloe’s number.
“Ayla? Are you safe?” Chloe answered immediately, her voice tight with anxiety.
“I’m fine,” Ayla said, keeping her tone steady. “Chloe, can I use the underground storage unit at your family’s building? I need a place to drop some boxes.”
“Of course,” Chloe said. “But what are you doing?”
“I’m going to get my severance package,” Ayla said, and hung up.
She leaned forward and tapped the plastic partition.
“Change of plans,” she told the driver. “Take me to the Upper East Side. Fifth Avenue.”
She was going back to the Farrell family’s empty penthouse. She was going to take every single thing she owned.
Ayla stood in front of the heavy oak door of the Farrell family’s Fifth Avenue penthouse and punched the six-digit code into the electronic keypad. The lock clicked open with a heavy thud. Axel hadn’t thought to change this passcode yet – he was too busy dealing with the PR fire she had started.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The massive apartment was dead silent. White dust sheets draped every piece of furniture, and the air smelled stale. They only used this place twice a year for charity galas.
Ayla walked straight past the grand living room and down the hallway to the master suite. She pushed open the doors to the climate-controlled walk-in closet. The sensor lights flickered on, illuminating an entire wall of custom display shelves.
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