Her heels clicked sharply against the polished marble floors of the luxurious psychiatric hospital her husband owned.
The air was laced with the soft scent of eucalyptus, and the lighting glowed with a clinical warmth, bouncing off the pristine white walls and gold-accented fixtures.
Nurses moved with calm efficiency in tailored uniforms, their badges clipped to crisp lapels.
The hospital, a state-of-the-art facility nestled in the city's elite district, was more reminiscent of a five-star hotel than a place for psychological care.
Elegant signage adorned the hallways, directing patients and staff through wings divided by need.
Every patient wore a color-coded gown, a system her husband had designed himself, blue for stable, green for moderately unstable, yellow for patients under warning, and red for those considered highly volatile.
The color system was both brilliant and brutally clear: it helped medical professionals identify who needed critical observation and support at a glance.
Of course, every patient received top-tier care. But red and yellow meant danger, whether to themselves or to others.
She strode past a man in red, lounging stiffly near a tall glass wall.
The moment she passed, he snapped his head toward her, his stare thick with suspicion. She paused, lips pursed.
"Is there a problem?" she asked, voice sharp and laced with disdain.
His eyes narrowed. "You look like that bitch my wife was cheating on me with."
Without warning, he grabbed a hardcover book from the nearby reading shelf, fingers curling around it with alarming intent.
By the tightness of his grip, she could tell, he wasn't planning to read it.
Good. She'd wanted to beat someone today anyway.
Before the situation could escalate, a nurse in white rushed forward, stepping between them with a composed smile. "Mrs. Willows, please come with me. Mr. Goodman Willows is waiting."
Then she turned to the patient with practiced calm. "Mr. Tom, it's time for a nice nap, okay?"
He glared at Elizabeth, who returned the stare, undeterred.
He flung the book across the hallway and stomped away.
The nurse exhaled quietly. "Right this way," she offered again.
Elizabeth waved her off. "Never mind, I know the way." She walked confidently down the sterile hall, passing private suites with glass doors, biometric locks, and soundproofing.
Each room looked more like a luxury penthouse than a patient ward.
She reached her husband's office and pushed the door open without knocking.
"Husband?" she called sweetly.
Inside, a young woman in an overly tight blouse leaned over the polished desk, her cleavage exposed as she explained something to him.
Both looked up, startled by the sudden entrance.
Elizabeth clapped her hands slowly, eyes sliding down to the short skirt the secretary wore, still daringly visible even while seated.
"Well, what a show," she said, her voice dipped in ice and amusement.