"My mother-in-law ripped open my maternity gown in front of nearly 200 wedding guests while the bride screamed, “Search the parasite!”

I stood up from the armchair, wrapping a heavy wool shawl around my shoulders.

"Bring him up to the private elevator lobby on the ground floor," I said into the intercom. "Do not let him past the security checkpoint."

Julian nodded approvingly to Hayes. "Ensure two men remain within arm's reach of him at all times."

Five minutes later, I stepped out of the private elevator into the marble-clad vestibule on the ground floor.

The contrast between this sanctuary and the outside world was stark. Beyond the heavy bronze-and-glass doors, Fifth Avenue was dark and battered by relentless rain.

Daniel stood in the center of the vestibule, flanked by two towering Vance security officers in rain-slicked black coats.

He was drenched. His expensive tuxedo was soaked through, the silk lapels ruined, clinging to his shivering frame. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his face pale and blotchy, his eyes wild with terror and exhaustion. He held a small, waterlogged leather duffel bag in one hand.

When the elevator doors slid open and he saw me, he dropped the bag. It hit the marble with a wet, heavy thud.

"Vivienne," he choked out, taking an involuntary step forward.

Both security guards instantly shifted their weight, their hands resting lightly on their tactical belts. Daniel froze, raising his hands in a frantic, defensive gesture.

"Please... just let me talk to her! Just two minutes!"

I stopped ten feet away from him, keeping my hands resting protectively over the high swell of my belly beneath the wool shawl.

"You have two minutes, Daniel," I said. My voice was low, echoing softly off the limestone walls.

Daniel sank to his knees on the wet doormat. "Vivienne... you have to stop your father. You have to tell him to call off the foreclosures. They locked me out of Greenwich. My mother is in a holding cell at the precinct with common criminals. Chloe is on suicide watch. Dad had a heart attack twenty minutes ago—they took him to Bellevue under police guard!"

I looked at him without blinking. "Arthur had a heart attack?"

"Yes! Yes!" Daniel nodded frantically, thinking he had found an angle of sympathy. "He’s in the cardiac ward! If your father executes those liens in the morning, Dad will be bankrupt before he even gets out of surgery! We won't be able to afford his legal defense, Vivienne! Don't you care? He was your father-in-law!"

"Arthur watched your mother tear the clothes off my body, Daniel," I replied, my voice chillingly steady. "He watched your sister scream for me to be searched like an animal. He poured himself a glass of Scotch and calculated how much money my humiliation would save him. He didn't care if I had a miscarriage on that marble floor."

"I cared!" Daniel cried, tears cutting pale tracks through the rainwater on his face. "I was trying to defuse the situation! You know how my mother gets when she's manic! If I fought her, she would have made it ten times worse! I did what I had to do to get us out of that room!"

"You handed her my purse, Daniel."

The words fell between us like heavy stones.

Daniel closed his eyes, his breath hitching in his throat. "I made a mistake. A terrible, cowardly mistake. I admit it! I am a coward, Vivienne! But I am your husband! I am the father of your child! Look at me! Look at what your father has done to me in three hours! I have ninety dollars in my pocket! I don't even have a place to sleep tonight!"

"You can stay in a shelter, Daniel," I said softly. "Just like the people your mother mocked every single Sunday after church."

"Vivienne, please!" He lunged forward on his knees, his fingers clawing at the air toward me, but the guard on the left stepped in smoothly, placing a firm, gloved hand against Daniel’s chest and shoving him back down to the mat.

"Don't touch her, Mr. Sterling-Vane," the guard warned, his voice deep and gravelly.

Daniel looked up at me, his expression shifting rapidly from groveling sorrow to bitter, venomous rage—the true face of a wounded narcissist whose supply had been permanently cut off.

"You lied to me!" he spat, his voice echoing shrilly in the vestibule. "You played the humble, quiet little mouse! You watched me stress about money! You watched me beg my father for allowances! You could have solved all our problems with a single signature, and you hid it! You wanted to see us crawl! You set us up!"

A small, sad smile touched the corner of my lips.

"I didn't set you up, Daniel. I gave you a blank slate. I gave you a chance to love a woman without a price tag attached. I wanted to see who you were when there was nothing to gain."

I took a half-step back toward the elevator doors.

"And tonight, you showed me. You are nothing."

"Vivienne!" he screamed, his voice cracking as the elevator call button chime sounded. "Vivienne, you can't keep my child from me! I have parental rights! I will take you to family court! I will drag your family name through every tabloid in the country!"

The elevator doors slid open with a soft, mechanical hiss.

I turned my head slightly, looking at him over my shoulder.

"You signed the annulment and custody waiver thirty minutes ago, Daniel. And as for the courts... Marcus Thorne owns the firm that trains the judges."

I stepped into the elevator.