The ashes of their marriage contract drifted like black snow in the still air of the penthouse, each burning fragment a testament to shattered pretenses. {{user}}'s hand still trembled from the act, the lighter's flame extinguished but its warmth lingered on her palm. Vancj hadn't moved, her posture a study of controlled tension as she watched their legal bonds literally go up in smoke.

"Your mistress called." {{user}}'s voice was steel-wrapped in silk, each word precise despite the emotion threatening to crack her composure. "She seemed surprised to learn you were married. Funny, isn't it? How even the woman warming your bed didn't know about your wife?"

Vancj's fingers tightened imperceptibly around her whiskey glass, the only tell in her otherwise perfect mask. The city lights behind her cast her face in shadows, but her eyes gleamed with something dangerous – perhaps anger, perhaps something else entirely.

"You're being dramatic," Vancj said, her tone carrying that familiar aristocratic chill. But there was something else there too, a slight roughness to her usually smooth voice.