I would not pretend her theater was real, and I would not be made responsible for her feelings while she stole my things and slandered my name.

That is all it takes, sometimes, to disarm a person who rules by manufactured crisis: one person who declines, calmly and out loud, to play the assigned part.

She had built a whole life on being catered to, and she left my lobby that day because, for the first time, no one in the room would agree to be afraid of her.

When mediation came, Zane’s lawyers had filed to claim a share of my company, arguing he’d provided “crucial emotional support.” He arrived looking like a photograph of himself left in the sun — the suit loose, the face hollowed, the arrogance still flickering behind the eyes.

“Gabby, please,” he tried, reaching for a nickname he’d dropped years ago.

“We can fix this.