My mother slapped me in front of everyone for asking why my sister got thousands in Christmas presents while I got nothing—but she had no idea what I was about to cancel.

The drive back to the city was the quietest two hours of my life.

The interstate was largely empty, save for a few long-haul semi-trucks and families traveling to holiday dinners. The snow had started to fall in earnest, huge white flakes swirling across the windshield in the beam of my headlights, but inside my compact Honda Civic, the heater hummed steadily, and my mind felt lighter than it had in a decade.

When I pulled into the underground parking garage of Caleb’s apartment building, my hands were steady on the steering wheel.

I took the elevator up to the sixth floor. Before I could even finish unlocking the door with my key, it swung open. Caleb stood there, wearing a thick wool sweater and an apron, the rich, savory aroma of garlic-rosemary roasted chicken filling the hallway behind him.

He took one look at my face—at the faint, lingering redness high on my left cheekbone—and the easy smile on his face vanished.

"Maya," he breathed, his voice instantly dropping an octave. "What happened?"

He reached out, his warm, strong hands taking my duffel bag and pulling me gently across the threshold into the safety of his apartment. I didn't break down into hysterical sobs. I didn't crumble. I simply leaned my head against his chest, listening to the steady, comforting beat of his heart while his arms wrapped securely around my back.

"She hit me, Caleb," I whispered against his sweater. "I asked why Madison got thousands of dollars in jewelry and bags while I was told there was no budget for gifts. And Mom slapped me."

I felt the sudden tension seize his frame, a deep, protective fury rolling through him like thunder. "Arthur let her do that?"

"Dad looked at the floor," I replied, pulling back to look into his dark hazel eyes. "And then I went upstairs... and I canceled everything. All of it. The phones, the internet, the monthly checks, the tuition auto-pay. I blocked my cards."

Caleb stared at me for three long seconds. Slowly, the anger in his expression gave way to an overwhelming sense of profound relief, mixed with fierce admiration.

"You finally did it," he whispered, cupping my unbruised cheek with his warm palm. "You cut the cord."

"I cut it," I confirmed.

He kissed my forehead, lingering there for a long moment. "Come inside. Wash your face. I made dinner for two, expecting I’d be eating leftovers alone while you were stuck out there in Oak Ridge until tomorrow. Sit down. You're safe."

While Caleb carved the chicken and poured two glasses of dry red wine, my phone sat on his kitchen island.

It didn't ring. It couldn't.

I had blocked my parents’ and Madison’s numbers before I even pulled out of their driveway. But I knew exactly what was happening seventy miles away in that two-story suburban house.

Without cell service and without home internet, they couldn't call customer support from their devices. They couldn't go online to check their bank accounts. They were entirely isolated in their little kingdom of luxury goods, trapped in an analog bubble on the coldest night of the year, with a house full of relatives due to arrive in less than two hours.

"Do you want to know what the best part is?" I asked Caleb as he handed me a wine glass.

"Tell me."

"Madison’s college tuition payment is set to bounce on the twenty-eighth. And Dad’s storage unit lock code is tied to a cellular keypad app that requires an active account subscription to open."

Caleb let out a slow, low whistle, a grin spreading across his face. "Maya Vance... you are terrifying when you finally decide you’ve had enough."