My legal representative, Kenna, stays with me as I finish the paperwork for an official release. I'm still floating in clouds, unsure how exactly they've managed to prove my innocence. Kenna will have to tell me everything once we're out of here. Something I'm looking forward to.

"Excuse me, I need to take this call." Kenna gets up with her ringing phone, leaving me and Smith alone.

He takes a seat, holding some papers.

"You believed me yet you didn't want to believe me," I say quietly while studying his interesting profile.

A middle-aged man trapped in a young body. Small in frame, but sturdy in appeal. I'm still figuring out where to put him. Now more than ever, I need allies. And mostly, I need to recognize whom to recruit and whom to discard.

I need my own army. Legal and illegal.

"I was only doing my job. Being biased is a luxury I can't afford and I'm not expecting you to understand me." After a moment of silence on his part he finally says this. "Sign here. And here. You'll get your things in a short moment and you'll be free to go. I'm sorry for what you've gone through. Believe it or not, it was nothing personal."

I sit straight, my eyes still on his sharp ones. A smile tugs at my lips and slowly I do as he says. It's my release and promissory notes—which means I'm now free from the murder charges, but the case is still open and so I can't leave the country without any notification.

"If you say so." I put my signatures with so much relief inside. "Done." Sighing, I put the pen down and stand up.

"All the best, Mia. And rest assured that we're doing our best to find out who's responsible for Anne's death," he says curtly.

"Please do. Mainly because whoever killed her is the same person who framed me. They need to pay." No mercy finds my voice.

I'm done being a good girl. Even though I find it hard to believe that Anne is really dead, I'm not gonna grief about it. No, I refuse to even think about it because my own life is a big mess and I have a lot to fix.

"Okay," Smith mutters.

"I have a favor to ask you," I tell him before I go. He nods stiffly. "I need a police escort to go to my husband's house. I want to get my things peacefully and I believe I have the right to do so. Can you provide me with that?"

With everything going on, the last thing I want is a fight with Patrick that may ruin my chances in the divorce procedure. I want to remain as calm as possible during this time, and for that I'll play by the law so as to have it on my side.

"Why would you need a police escort to get your things at your own house?" Smith looks intrigued, eyes squinted quizzically.

"It's a private matter, Detective. Will I get an escort or not? It's only a favor I'm asking for," I remark.

After a heavy sigh, he simply says, "Okay, Mia. Tell me when and I'll arrange someone to escort you."

"Thank you. But I want it today. Right now," I state. Yes, I'll go straight to the mansion when I leave this place. He nods affirmatively. "And I need to make a call. Can I have your phone?" Mine is with my mom, according to Kenna.

Despite the condescending look he gives me—a mixture of stupor and wonder—he smoothly tucks his mobile from the breast pocket of his denim shirt and hands it to me. I make a quick call to Butler Lucas and instruct for my thighs to be packed.

All of my things..

When Kenna returns it's our time to go. At each step I take outside this precinct, I wonder what would've happened if they took me to prison as they intended. Surely it would've been ugly for me, but now I can fix that. I'll fix every broken thing.

"Did you get in touch with that divorce lawyer?" I ask Kenna after fetching my necklace and earrings that were forfeited when I arrived here.

"She's the one who called me a while ago. And guess what?" Her grin is infectious but my mood is still damp. I just stare at her until she says, "She's ready to take your case. She's back and free now."

Relief washes over me.

"I'll talk to her later. Right now I need to go to the mansion," I state.

"Excuse me? Did I hear the mansion? Like your mansion with Patrick?" Kenna gasps. It's unexpected, I know. "Why?" Her face frowns in disfavor.

Sunlight bathes my eyes as a sign of life. It hasn't been that long but I almost forgot the scent of a bright afternoon as the mid-autumn leaves mop the ground. It's so beautiful. Very beautiful.

I look at Kenna with a smile on my face. "I have some things to pick."

Some very important documents that only I myself know where they are. I need to get my clothes, too, and everything I bought on my own.

"Must it be now?" Kenna recoils, her eyes narrowed in a repulsive manner. "Mia, you need to rest, my friend. Please."

Rest? How can I rest when Patrick is somewhere cooking every possible way to destroy my life? No, I can't.

"Yes, Kenna." I watch my mother waiting restlessly on the lounging bench. Joy spikes through me, sending tingles in my heart. "Take my mom home and I'll follow you," I tell Kenna.

But when Sophie hears about my plan she denies it profusely. She's against any idea of being away from me and I completely understand her. She must've been shocked to hear I was arrested.

"You're not going back to that man, are you?" she asks me immediately.

Smiling amused, I softly answer, "Sobre mi cadáver."

(Over my dead body)

She laughs heartily before rubbing my hair and lays many kisses on my head. Her scent eases my pain and every bad memory vanishes when she squeezes me again. She's my ultimate comfort.

"In that case, let's all go together," Mom says after a deep breath of reclaiming her lost composure.

"Sounds like a better plan because I don't think we can trust that sickly unhinged bastard," Kenna remarks and it looks like they've won.

"Alright. Let's go," I acquiesce.

Bill draws me into a hug and I could swear to have seen tears in his eyes. Wow! Am I that adorable? I'm happy to see him, too. A wide smile stretches the corner of my lips and he lets go of me with a quick sorry. One of the two cops beckons that we're ready to go.

I sit in a police car and behind us Bill drives the Lexus in which my mom and Kenna are inside. Patrick occupies my mind throughout the journey to my old home. I can't forget his blackmail, and mostly the fact that he may be planning something to ruin me.

Fine. We'll see what I'm made of.

The driveway to the mansion holds so many memories. I chose to bury them deep into my groin as soon as one of the security guards steps upon the police car arrival near the gates. I see him speaking into his sleeve, probably informing his team about us.

I poke my head through the window and snap, "Open the gate."

"Ma'am?" Shock glows in his eyes, terminating his mission of calling his boss in a heartbeat.

The gates slide open automatically. I'm back to my nine-years-old home and feigning indifference is harder than letting go of all the memories engraved on every corner of the mansion. I chose this house myself. I fell in love with it from the magazine alone.

I dreamed of a lifetime with my husband the moment I stepped foot inside this house. Little did I know that a home is where a heart is. A heart full of joy and assurance, something I kept missing each day that passed until I decided It's over.

Yes, Mia. It's over! I cast my gaze away from the large fountain, rushing past the green garden and onto the swimming pool at the far end, before resuming my attention at the bursting front doors where Imelda breezes out frantically.

"Mia!" She's already crying before even pulling me into a bear hug.

I crack in her embrace. She smells like food—not bad at all—as she must've been doing her favorite chore in the world. When I heave back nostalgia sweeps me mercilessly. I miss my crew. I really do.

"Imelda. How are you?" I ask her tenderly.

"No, how are you? I heard you were–" She pauses and more tears pour down her faintly wrinkled face. "How could they think you could kill anyone?"

I sigh and smile feebly. "It's okay, Imelda. I'm out now and everything will be fine. I don't have much time here. Where is Butler Lucas? I told him to . . ." My speech hangs when Imelda bursts into tears. "What? What happened to him?" I snap, my heart thuds resonantly.

Mom and Kenna saunter closer, but the cops remain behind me without a word. My attention remains on Imelda who takes a deep breath, and I gather something terrible has happened here recently.

"Patrick fired him last night. He ruthlessly kicked him out of the house in the middle of the night, Mia," Imelda cries.

Something sharp sears through my heart like a burning knife on the flesh. I clench my fists so tightly until I release my long held breath, and I find no relief.

"Where is he now? I talked to him a while ago and he didn't mention any of this." I manage to ask in a flinty voice, holding my tears back.

"Maybe he didn't want you to worry. He's staying in a hotel. Everything has been chaotic since you left here. Patrick has gone out of his wit!" Imelda laments. She eyes me softly and says, " I know you wanted me to pack your things but I couldn't. I'm afraid if I go against him he'll–"

"I get it," I interrupt her, knowing fully well that she needs this job desperately. She's being paid generously and I can't offer her that at the moment. "I'll call Lucas later to see how he's doing. Now I have to get my things so you'll have to excuse me, Imelda, because you have to go against your boss and let me in. It's not a request; it's an order."

She nods and smiles nervously. I nod back, ready for the task that brought me here. We walk inside the house, and that warmth I used to feel is now an avalanche of the great Everest. Cold and gloomy.

I go straight to the master bedroom, and the sight of it steals my breath away. A lot has happened here and it still looks the same as before. I don't dwell, however, for the past should remain in the past. Through my wardrobe I pull a drawer in search for a folder with some important documents.

Pheew! I sigh with relief as I find it, and mostly, when I finally hold the key to my bank safe deposit that I secured inside the Bible. A small smile dances on my lips.

And then I turn around and face Patrick's wardrobe. With the fire burning in my heart because of his impertinence, I go straight toward his built-in secret vault. It has a digital combination and I've never opened it before. I never had a reason to.

"Let's see . . ." I murmur before typing Patrick's birthday on the pad.

It buzzes. Access denied.

Okay, maybe he isn't so stupid after all. I tuck my hair behind my ears and try again. Three attempts go to waste and I'm worried it may auto-block. So I hold my horses and think a little more.

"I feel reborn today. You're my tiny magical portion, butterfly. You make me feel so young and I love you like crazy!" Patrick's words from our very first night together replay in my head, reminding me of how indelible that moment was for him—for us.

He took my virginity. And he claimed me as his woman for life.

Hyped, I type that date as fast as I can. In a blink of an eye the safe unlocks.

I smirk and murmur, "How romantic."

Bundles of a hundred dollar bills are stashed in the safe, seemingly like they got no use at all. Yeah, that's Patrick. There's a familiar velvet box holding a pure gold watch called 'The Pasha', one of the relics he bought at the highest bid during our little trip to Istanbul for a fashion show.

Some of the good old days.

Ignoring them, my sole focus is now on the documents lying inside the safe, together with a gold key that I once or twice saw Patrick holding as if his life depends on it. It has to be important and so I rush to the bathroom and grab a Dove bar soap.

I need a duplicate.

Lastly, I skim through his documents and my eyes squint in stun at every paper I touch. He's got a lot of shadiness going on and I'm here for it. I take my phone and snap a few pictures of them, one after the other. I do everything fast because he may be here in no time.

The security must have alerted him and so my phone buzzes upon his call.

Smirking, I pick up and say, "Did you miss me?"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Mia?" he booms.

"Uh-oh. Wrong question, hubby," I say smoothly, a phone between my cheek and shoulder as I deposit some things inside a handbag. "You should ask how come I'm not locked up in a prison cell, and I'm here at your house instead. But don't bother, honey, because it's simply called divine justice."

"You're not going to win this war, Mia. Stop this while you still can, because you'll never be a single woman again! You're my wife and you'll remain my wife until the end." He sounds very furious.

"Okay. If you say so, Barron," I reply heedlessly.

"Mia–"

"I'm busy, Patrick. Bye." I hang up.

A war it is. Sighing, calling for the last composure left in me, I dial Smith's number. A few rings and he's on.

"Don't tell me you're in trouble again," he says urgently.

"On the contrary. I'm doing splendidly here," I answer, now holding an interesting memorandum of money transfer to overseas banks. "I have something for you, Detective. You'll have it pretty soon."

"What is it?" He sounds wary.

"Soon there'll be a hefty export of paintings and antiques. And possibly a huge stock exchange if you have some interest in our capital market," I tell him with a pause, my eyes on the full-length mirror next to my shoe wardrobe. "I'm talking about a big laundry. Billions of dollars will be taken out of our beautiful country. As a loyal citizen, I'm very worried that our economy may be affected so perhaps you can stop this preposterous felony, can't you?"

A small silence prevails and my patience is quite thin today.

"Are you sure?" he asks at last.

"Absolutely sure. Wait for your parcel. I gotta go." I end the call and suck in another deep breath.

Now let's see whose side you're on, Detective Smith. Let's see what you got.

Afterwards I gather some of my clothes, shoes, handbags, and accessories. The anger inside me fuels my energy and so I do everything more speedily. I fill two suitcases and yet it's not even a half of everything I have in the dressing room.

He can keep the rest for his mistresses.

"Are you done, honey? Do you need help?" I hear my mom's voice coming from the bedroom.

"Yeah, I'm done. All done." I sigh heavily, watching this room for the last time.

Bill helps me with the suitcases and Imelda watches sadly as he trunks them inside the Lexus with the help of the two cops.

"Patrick is furious. He called me and told me to stop you from taking your things but I told him you are here with the police. I think he's on his way here so you should go now," Imelda says.

"I know. You take care, huh?" I give her a quick hug and she cries again.

"All done, Ma'am." It's Bill.

"Sure." I smile and glance at the mansion one more time. Sighing heavily, I turn toward my team and utter, "Let's go."

We take our leave, and Red invades my mind. Where is he? Why didn't he come today? I feel my mom's hand taking mine and slowly I lay my head on her shoulder. I'm happy she's here. I needed her.