The city was on fire—figuratively, of course. Every screen, every whisper, every group chat buzzed with the same scandal that had detonated overnight. The Hawthorne family was in chaos. Knight Enterprises was in chaos. Missy was having a meltdown that could probably be heard from space. Emily was frantically calling every PR contact she had ever bribed. And the woman responsible for all of it sat in a quiet corner of a small café, sipping her coffee as if she hadn’t just set the entire upper class ablaze.
Mindy leaned back in her chair, letting the sunlight spill across her face. The café wasn’t extravagant or famous; it was simply comfortable. The kind of place where the barista remembered her order and the music was soft enough to think over. The smell of roasted beans and warm pastries filled the air, and for the first time in years, she wasn’t drinking her coffee while worrying about Layton Knight’s moods. The bitterness tasted almost sweet.
She smiled—a real one this time. Not the polite, practiced smile she wore for the Hawthornes. Not the careful, measured one she used around Layton. This one was genuine, unguarded, and free. It felt strange, almost foreign, but she liked it.
Meanwhile, across the city, the Hawthorne family was collectively losing their minds.
Inside Hawthorne Enterprises, Raymond’s expression had gone from stern to murderous. He had called Mindy twelve times. Drake had called nine. Jagger had called seven. Emily and Missy had tried as well, each attempt ending the same way—silence. Every call failed. Every message remained undelivered.
At first, they thought she was ignoring them. Then, as the hours passed, the truth became undeniable. They had all been blocked. Every single one of them.
Drake stared at his phone as if it had personally betrayed him. "She blocked me?" His voice cracked in disbelief.
Raymond’s jaw tightened. For years, Mindy had always answered. Always. Whether she was crying, sick, or humiliated, she came running the moment they called. Now, she had cut them off completely. The realization left the room heavy with something none of them wanted to name—unease.
At Knight Enterprises, the atmosphere was worse. Mike had worked for Layton Knight for six years. He had seen mergers collapse, competitors crumble, and investors panic. But nothing—absolutely nothing—compared to the tension in the CEO’s office that morning.
The temperature felt subarctic. Layton sat behind his desk, silent and still, his expression unreadable. Mike had learned long ago that the quieter Layton became, the more dangerous the situation was.
"Call her," Layton said finally, his voice calm in a way that made Mike’s stomach twist.
Mike hesitated. "President Knight, perhaps Miss Mindy—"
"Call her."
Mike swallowed hard. He pulled out his phone, his fingers slightly trembling. Years ago, he had always addressed her as Mrs. Knight. It had felt natural—she was the wife, the quiet presence who brought coffee to meetings and remembered everyone’s birthdays. Then Missy had returned. One afternoon, she had laughed and said she should have been Mrs. Knight instead. Everyone had laughed with her. Everyone except Mindy. And except Mike.
Later that same day, Layton had instructed him to address her as Miss Mindy from then on. Mike still remembered the way her face had gone pale, how she had smiled and said it didn’t matter. But it had. Some wounds didn’t bleed; they just stayed hidden.
Shaking off the memory, he dialed Mindy’s number. To his shock, the call connected immediately.
"Hello?" Her voice was light, almost cheerful.
Mike nearly dropped the phone. "Miss Mindy," he said quickly, putting the call on speaker.
"Mike," she greeted warmly. The sound startled him. She sounded... happy. Genuinely happy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her sound like that.
"May I ask where you are?" he asked carefully.
Mindy glanced around the café. The sunlight glowed against the polished wood tables, and the chatter of other customers filled the air. She took another sip of coffee, savoring the taste. "No."
Mike blinked. "...No?"
"No," she repeated pleasantly. "As of last night, I signed the divorce papers. So my location is no longer President Knight’s business."
Mike froze. Across the desk, Layton’s jaw tightened. The silence that followed was suffocating. In six years, Mike had never heard Mindy speak like that. No hesitation. No fear. No trace of the woman who used to whisper apologies for things she hadn’t done.
"Miss Mindy," he tried again, "President Knight would like to meet you."
"That’s unfortunate," she said, sounding genuinely sympathetic.
Mike blinked again. "Unfortunate?"
"Yes," she said, her tone light. "I already have plans."
"He would like to see you within the hour."
Mindy laughed softly, the sound warm and amused. "I don’t think that’s possible."
"Why not?"
"Because I need to pack," she said simply.
"Pack?"
"Of course. I already signed the divorce papers. Why would I continue living there?"
The words hit the office like a thunderclap. Layton’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, but Mike saw it—the faintest crack in his composure. Home. She no longer considered it hers.
Before Mike could respond, a hand reached across the desk and snatched the phone. Mike immediately took three steps back. For safety.
Mindy didn’t need to guess who had taken the phone. The irritated breathing on the other end was unmistakable.
"Have you finished?" Layton’s voice was low and icy.
"No," she said sweetly. "I’ve barely started."
The vein on his forehead twitched. "Stop playing games and explain the news."
Several nearby customers turned their heads. Mindy sighed, pulled the phone slightly away from her ear, and frowned. When she brought it back, her tone was calm but sharp enough to cut glass. "Could you stop barking like a dog? I can hear you perfectly fine."
The café went silent. A waiter dropped a tray. A woman at the next table choked on her latte. Somewhere behind the counter, someone whispered, "Did she just—?"
Meanwhile, in the Knight Enterprises office, Mike looked like he was reconsidering his entire career. Nobody—absolutely nobody—had ever spoken to Layton Knight like that.
Mindy continued, her voice smooth and unbothered. "There’s really no need to shout. I’m not one of your employees."
Layton’s expression darkened. "Mindy."
"Yes, President Knight?" she replied, her tone dripping with mock politeness.
"What exactly are you trying to do?"
"Celebrate," she said simply.
"Celebrate what?"
"My freedom."
The silence that followed was dangerous. Mike could practically feel the temperature drop another ten degrees.
Layton inhaled slowly. "What nonsense is this article about a mistress?"
Mindy tilted her head, pretending to think. "Oh? You don’t know?"
"No."
"Then perhaps you should think harder," she said, her voice honey-sweet and merciless.
"Mindy," he warned.
"President Knight," she countered.
"What mistress?"
She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Considering I have our official marriage certificate sitting in my bag, it certainly isn’t me. So who exactly does that leave?"
The silence on the other end was deafening. Even Mike stopped breathing. Layton’s jaw tightened, but he couldn’t refute her. For the first time in years, someone had cornered him with nothing but logic—and it was the woman he’d once dismissed as harmless.
"Enough," he said finally, his voice cold. "Return to the penthouse."
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"I said no," she repeated, her tone bored. "You have one hour."
"I don’t take orders from you anymore."
"Remove the article."
Mindy laughed—a bright, beautiful sound that carried through the café. Heads turned again, but she didn’t care. "Get lost," she said, and hung up.
Silence filled the office. Mike stared at the disconnected call, then at his boss, who looked as though he might shatter the phone in his hand. For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Across the city, Mindy set her phone down and took another sip of coffee. The bitterness tasted divine.
A loud burst of laughter erupted beside her. Ana had arrived, and judging by the tears streaming down her face, she had heard enough of the conversation to piece everything together.
"Oh my God," Ana gasped, collapsing into the chair opposite her. "My best friend is back."
Mindy raised an eyebrow. "Your standards are low."
"No," Ana said, pointing dramatically. "My best friend disappeared two years ago. The one sitting in front of me used to be a lost puppy."
Mindy groaned. "Ana."
"A lovesick puppy," Ana continued, ignoring her.
"Ana."
"A very tragic puppy."
"Ana."
"A puppy obsessed with a cold-hearted master."
The barista behind the counter snorted. A few customers started laughing. Mindy covered her face with one hand. "You’re impossible."
Ana grinned, utterly delighted. "You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this day. You just told Layton Knight to get lost. Do you understand the magnitude of that? That’s like telling a thunderstorm to take a nap."
Mindy smirked. "He needed the reminder."
Ana leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "You didn’t just remind him. You verbally slapped him with a diamond-encrusted glove. I’m so proud I could cry."
"Please don’t," Mindy said dryly. "You’ll ruin your mascara."
Ana sniffed dramatically. "Worth it. That was art. That was poetry. That was—wait, what did you say again? The dog thing?"
Mindy took another sip of coffee. "I told him to stop barking."
Ana slapped the table, laughing so hard she nearly fell off her chair. "You told the CEO of Knight Enterprises to stop barking like a dog! I can’t—Mindy, I can’t breathe!"
"Good," Mindy said calmly. "Maybe you’ll stop talking."
Ana wheezed, clutching her stomach. "You’ve changed. You’re glowing. You’re terrifying. I love it."
Mindy rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "You’re being dramatic."
"I’m being accurate," Ana countered. "You used to apologize to furniture for bumping into it. Now you’re verbally neutering billionaires before breakfast."
"That’s one way to describe personal growth."
Ana leaned back, fanning herself. "I’m giving that performance a solid nine out of ten."
"Only nine?"
"You could’ve been meaner," Ana said thoughtfully. "Maybe throw in a ’fetch’ for thematic consistency."
Mindy laughed, shaking her head. "You’re insane."
"And you’re finally fun again," Ana said, grinning. "Do you realize how long it’s been since you laughed like that? I was starting to think I’d have to stage an exorcism."
Mindy smiled, softer this time. "I guess I just needed the right motivation."
"Ah yes," Ana said, raising her cup in mock salute. "Nothing motivates a woman like a cheating husband and a delusional sister."
Mindy clinked her cup against Ana’s. "To new beginnings."
"To chaos," Ana corrected. "And speaking of chaos, can we do it again?"
Mindy blinked. "Do what again?"
Ana’s grin turned wicked. "Call him. Or better yet, call Missy. I want to hear her implode in real time."
Mindy laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. "You’re incorrigible."
"I’m inspired," Ana said. "You’ve unleashed something dangerous in me. I feel like we should have matching leather jackets and a theme song."
"Please don’t."
"Too late," Ana said, pretending to type on her phone. "I’m already designing the logo. The Revenge Baristas."
Mindy groaned. "You’re impossible."
"And you love me for it."
"I tolerate you."
"Same thing."
They both laughed, the sound blending with the hum of the café. For the first time in years, Mindy felt light. The weight that had pressed on her chest for so long was gone, replaced by something fierce and exhilarating.
Ana leaned forward again, her grin mischievous. "So what’s next, oh queen of chaos?"
Mindy looked out the window, watching the city bustle below. "Next?" she said thoughtfully. "Next, I pack. Then I start over."
Ana nodded approvingly. "And maybe leak another scandal or two?"
Mindy smirked. "Maybe."
Ana sighed happily. "You know, I always said you’d be unstoppable once you stopped crying long enough to plot."
Mindy tilted her head. "And you?"
"I’m your accomplice," Ana said proudly. "Every queen needs a jester."
"More like an arsonist," Mindy muttered.
"Semantics," Ana said, waving a hand. "Now, tell me everything. How did it feel?"
Mindy thought for a moment, then smiled. "Liberating."
Ana grinned. "Good. Because that’s what freedom sounds like—’Get lost.’"
Mindy laughed again, the sound soft but sure. "Tomorrow," she said, her eyes glinting, "we start painting the city red."
Ana raised her cup. "Brushstrokes of revenge?"
Mindy clinked hers against it. "Exactly."
And for the first time in eight years, Mindy Hawthorne—no, Mindy Wilson—felt alive.