Rain hammered down on London like the sky itself had decided to punish Avery Clarke.
She stood beneath the flimsy awning of the Barclays ATM, shivering, mascara melting, her hair sticking to her cheeks as she shoved another debit card into the machine.
Please work. Please, God, just—
DECLINED.
Her throat closed.
She tried the credit card.
DECLINED.
Another one.
DECLINED.
The rain wasn’t even cold anymore—she was numb from the inside out, soaked in a humiliation too raw to swallow.
Avery stared at the glowing screen, breath fogging the metal panel.
This wasn’t possible.
Sebastian wouldn’t—
He couldn’t—
But the truth slammed into her chest with the force of a freight train.
He would.
He absolutely would.
Sebastian Hale, the man she married in secret.
The man who swore he’d protect her.
The man who kissed another woman last night in front of half of London and called Avery a “delusional stalker” to save his own reputation.
He had cut off her cards.
Her accounts.
Her access to everything.
A small, broken laugh escaped her. It sounded nothing like her.
“Of course,” she whispered to no one. “Of course he did.”
A couple walked past her under a shared umbrella, casting her a pitying glance that made her want to disappear into the concrete.
Her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out with trembling fingers.
Notification: Payment Failed – Rent Transfer Unsuccessful
Another buzz.
Notification: Hale Financial – Account Access Revoked
And another.
Notification: Hale Financial – Scheduled Transactions Canceled
Avery pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to stop the sob clawing its way up her throat.
He didn’t just cut her off.
He erased her.
Like she had never been his wife.
Never been part of his life.
Never existed.
Rain plastered her dress to her skin, the same dress she wore when he betrayed her, the same dress she still hadn’t been able to take off—as if removing it would make last night real.
Her vision blurred.
Not from the rain.
From rage.
White-hot, bone-deep, breath-stealing rage.
Sebastian Hale wanted her powerless.
Penniless.
On her knees.
He thought taking away her money would take away her voice, her fight, her fire.
But Avery Clarke had survived worse than a man trying to bury her.
She straightened, wiping her face with the sleeve of her soaked cardigan.
“Fine,” she whispered. “If he wants a war…”
A car splashed through a puddle beside her, drenching her from ankle to knee.
Her jaw tightened.
“…then I’ll burn his whole empire to the ground.”
And under the storm-black sky, Avery took her first step toward revenge.
Avery lay on her couch—if you could call the lumpy, charity-shop hand-me-down a couch—staring at the water stain on her ceiling like it might blink back and deliver solutions.
Her hair was still damp from the rain.
Her bank accounts were still empty.
Her heart still felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.
Everything was silent except for the occasional drip… drip… drip from the leaky window frame.
Then her phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Avery flinched.
Because lately, every notification felt like another disaster waiting to detonate.
She forced herself to look.
Sophia Murray
Hey. I heard about… everything. Are you okay? Can we meet? Tonight?
Avery’s breath hitched.
Sophia.
Her old uni roommate.
One of the only people in the world who knew the real Avery Clarke—the version before secret marriages and corporate puppeteering and public humiliation.
She hadn’t reached out to Avery in months—not out of malice, but because life had pulled them in different directions. Sophia had gone into journalism; Avery had disappeared into Sebastian Hale’s shadow.
And yet… here she was.
Texting.
Checking in.
Like Avery wasn’t radioactive, untouchable, a tabloid punchline across London’s gossip pages.
The phone buzzed again.
I don’t believe a word of what they're saying about you. Tell me where you are. I’ll come.
Avery swallowed hard.
No one had said that to her.
Not since the scandal erupted—not since Sebastian painted her as the unhinged ex who wouldn’t “let go.”
Another text lit up her screen before she could respond.
Dinner? Drinks? Or something stronger, babe?
Name it. I’m kidnapping you either way.
A laugh—small, shaky, but real—escaped Avery for the first time in days.
Warmth spread slowly through her chest, thawing the ice that had wrapped around her since the night her life imploded.
Sophia wanted to see her.
Wanted to show up for her.
And God, Avery needed someone. Anyone.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she typed back.
Avery:
Name the place. I’ll be there.
The reply came instantly.
Orbit Bar. 8 PM. Wear something that reminds you who the hell you are.
Avery closed her eyes.
Who she was.
Not Sebastian’s secret wife.
Not London’s latest scandal.
Not the girl whose cards had declined under the rain.
But Avery Clarke.
And maybe—just maybe—tonight she’d remember how to be her again.
She sat up, heart pounding with something dangerously close to hope.
This wasn’t just a reunion.
It felt like the first step toward taking her life back.
And Avery planned to take all of it.