During my 3-month ultrasound, I heard my husband tell the doctor, “Get rid of the baby and make sure she can never become a mother again.

The Metropolitan Detention Center in Alexandria was a brutal shock to Preston Lyle's system.

There were no Egyptian cotton sheets here. No sparkling water flown in from the French Alps. The air smelled of industrial bleach, stale sweat, and despair.

Preston sat on a stainless-steel bench in a solitary holding cell, dressed in an oversized orange jumpsuit. His nose was swollen and taped, purple bruises blooming beneath both eyes.

Due to the death threats he had screamed on live national television, the magistrate judge had denied bail without hesitation, citing him as an extreme flight risk and an active danger to society.

The heavy steel door slid open with a metallic groan.

A guard tapped his baton against the bars. "Lyle. Attorney visit. You've got twenty minutes."

Preston stumbled to his feet, his plastic slip-on shoes scuffing against the concrete. A sliver of hope sparked in his chest. *Sabrina.* She must have realized that if he went down, he would take her with him. She must have hired an elite defense team.

He was escorted down a fluorescent-lit corridor into a small, sterile visitation room divided by thick plexiglass.

He sat down, grabbed the black telephone receiver with shaking hands, and looked through the glass.

It wasn't Sabrina.

It was Victoria Strand.

Preston slammed the phone against the shelf before snatching it back up. "You? Where is my lawyer? Where is Sabrina?"

Victoria picked up her receiver on the other side of the glass. She looked completely relaxed, holding a single manila folder in her lap.

"Sabrina Crane was arrested three hours ago at Dulles International Airport," Victoria said smoothly. "She was attempting to board an Air France flight to Paris using a falsified Irish passport under the name 'Claire Davis'."

Preston’s breath hitched. "What?"

"The eighteen million dollars she stole from your offshore accounts has been seized under federal asset forfeiture laws," Victoria continued. "And twenty minutes after she was placed in handcuffs, Sabrina signed an emergency cooperation agreement with the Department of Justice."

"She... she cooperated?"

"She handed over every text message, every encrypted email, and three secret audio recordings of you discussing how to forge Reese's signature on a power-of-attorney document." Victoria tilted her head, her smile cold and sharp. "Sabrina didn't love you, Preston. She loved the lifestyle she thought you had. The moment that lifestyle evaporated, you became nothing more than a liability she needed to discard."

Preston gripped the receiver so hard the plastic cracked. "I will testify against her! I'll tell the prosecutors that it was her idea! She was the one who recommended Dr. Ellison! She told me Reese had to be eliminated!"

"It doesn't matter what you say, Preston," Victoria replied evenly. "Between Ellison’s testimony, the clinic’s video footage, the forensic financial audit, and Sabrina’s files, the case against you is airtight. You are going to trial for attempted murder. You are facing twenty-five years to life at ADX Florence."

"No..." Preston whispered, tears of terror leaking down his bruised face. "No, please. Tell Reese... tell Reese I'm sorry. I was sick! I had a breakdown! I'll sign anything! I'll give up all claims, I'll never speak her name again! Just tell her to drop the charges!"

Victoria stood up, smoothing the front of her jacket.

"Reese doesn't care about your apologies, Preston. She only came to realize one thing about you."

Preston looked up, his eyes wide and desperate. "What?"

"You were never a wolf," Victoria said quietly. "You were just a tick that managed to climb onto an eagle. And now, you've been crushed."

Victoria set the phone down and walked out of the room.

"Wait! Victoria! Don't leave me here! Victoria!" Preston pounded on the plexiglass, screaming until his throat bled, but the heavy steel door slammed shut behind her.

Back in his cell, the silence was deafening.

Preston sat on the concrete floor, his hands clawing at his scalp. Twenty-five years. A supermax prison. Locked in an eight-by-ten concrete box for twenty-three hours a day. He would be an old man when he got out—broke, disgraced, forgotten.

*No.*

He couldn't accept it.

If his life was over, he would make sure hers was too.

Preston looked toward the adjacent cell block through the narrow barred window. During his transfer that morning, an inmate had approached him—a member of an organized syndicate who recognized him from the news. The man had whispered that money, even frozen money, could always buy services on the outside if you knew which foreign accounts to unlock.

Preston had one secret account left. A cold-storage cryptocurrency wallet holding seventy-five Bitcoin, set up five years ago before he even met Reese. No one knew about it. Not the SEC, not the FBI, not even Sabrina.

He stood up, walking slowly to the bars of his cell.

"Hey," Preston whispered through the partition to the man in the next tier. "Hey. You said you have people on the outside who can handle contracts?"

A scarred face appeared in the shadow of the adjacent cell. "Depends. You got the coin, pretty boy?"

"I have five million dollars in Bitcoin," Preston snarled, his eyes gleaming with the black fire of utter madness. "I don't want a breakout. I want a hit."

"Who's the mark?"

"Reese Sutherland," Preston whispered, his voice trembling with venomous hatred. "She goes to Johns Hopkins Hospital every Thursday for specialized prenatal monitoring. Break through the security. Kill the baby. Kill her. Burn the whole place down."

The man smiled, revealing gold-capped teeth. "Five million. Half upfront to an offshore address. By Thursday afternoon, your wife is history."

Preston leaned his head against the cold steel bars, a sickening smile stretching across his battered face.