My mother-in-law ripped open my maternity gown in front of nearly 200 wedding guests while the bride screamed, “Search the parasite!” over her missing family ring. But when my own husband handed them my purse instead of defending his eight-month-pregnant wife, I called my father and whispered, “Dad... destroy them.” His answer made me realize they had no idea whose daughter they had just humiliated.

The dragging of Eleanor and Chloe across the marble floor was accompanied by their desperate, undignified wailing.

Chloe kicked and screamed, her white wedding dress tearing against the shattered fragments of champagne flutes, leaving ugly gray streaks along the hem. Eleanor spat curses, threatening lawsuits, threatening divine retribution, until the heavy doors of the hotel foyer slammed shut behind them, cutting off their cries forever.

Daniel was the last to be dragged out.

He didn't scream. He didn't curse. He just kept his eyes glued to me, tears streaming down his hollow cheeks, whispering my name like a prayer that would never be answered.

*“Vivienne... Vivi... please... I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...”*

I didn't watch him leave.

I turned my back and looked at the crowd of two hundred guests.

These were the elites of the city. The judges, the bank presidents, the socialites who had watched Eleanor sneer at me for thirty-six months. Many of them had joined in on the laughter. Many of them had refused to shake my hand at dinner parties.

Now, they stood frozen, terrified that Arthur Vance’s gaze would land on them.

Arthur Sterling stepped forward, his hands clasped humbly in front of his stomach. "Mr. Vance... Arthur... please understand, none of us knew. If we had realized that Vivienne was your blood—"

"That is precisely the problem, Sterling," Arthur Vance interrupted, his voice dripping with venom. "You only recognize human dignity when it comes with a net worth attached."

Arthur looked around the room, his eyes searing every face into his memory.

"Every firm represented in this room will undergo an audit by my compliance division within the week," Arthur announced calmly. "If your books are dirty, pray. If your loans are held by Vance Capital, prepare your liquid reserves. This evening’s entertainment is concluded. Leave."

There was no polite farewell. There was no mingling.

Two hundred of the city’s most arrogant elites practically trampled one another in their desperate rush toward the side exits, desperate to escape the wrath of the Vance patriarch.

Within three minutes, the ballroom was empty.

Only the splintered wood, the spilled wine, the torn emerald chiffon, and the obsidian black card remained on the floor.

The female doctor gently touched my arm. "Miss Vance, your blood pressure is stabilizing, but we should get you to the private wing at St. Jude's immediately. The stress could trigger early labor."

"I’m ready," I whispered.

Arthur Vance walked over, bending down with an old man’s deliberate care to pick up my obsidian card from the floor. He wiped the dust off against his sleeve and gently placed it into the pocket of the cashmere coat wrapped around me.

"Let’s go home, Vivi," he said, offering his arm.