She didn't give media exit interviews. She simply exited his life at 6:02 AM using the elevator, not the spotlight.
Dorian woke from his 2-hour nap to a half-empty penthouse that smelled of nothing, which was more violent than citrus summit spills.
On the kitchen counter, she left:
His archived jacket card
A sealed vial labeled: "For storms, not supervision."
And a sticky note reading:
"I was brave once. Now it's your turn."
He stared at it as if stock percentages were worthless without courage metrics.