For my birthday, my husband saw fit to tie me to a beam and whip me thirty times because I had ruined his mistress's dress. "That’ll teach you to stay in your place," he chuckled in front of the Parisian elite. I didn't shed a single tear. When they finally untied me, I grabbed my phone and called my five brothers—former underworld kings turned legitimate businessmen. "I want his entire family begging for mercy," I whispered. And right then, the estate's massive gates locked shut on their own.

Before we stepped out into the crisp, cool night air, Noah held up his hand, stopping the officers who were dragging Isaac toward the armored police transport outside.

"Wait," Noah commanded.

The federal officers, knowing full well who Noah Sterling was, paused near the threshold of the grand entrance.

Isaac was shivering violently, his expensive linen shirt covered in wine, dirt, and tears. The arrogant heir who had strutted through the ballroom two hours ago was completely gone; in his place stood a broken, pathetic boy facing two decades in a concrete cell.

Noah walked slowly toward him, stopping inches away. He reached down and picked up the leather riding crop Isaac had used on me—the same crop that was sitting on the marble floor beside the Baccarat chandelier.

Isaac shrank back, his eyes bulging with sheer, unadulterated terror. "Noah... please... don't hit me... I beg you... I’ll give you everything... I’ll sign the divorce papers... I’ll give Flora all my personal assets..."

Noah looked down at the crop in his hands. He didn't raise it. He didn't swing it.

Instead, Noah placed his large, powerful hands on either end of the reinforced leather crop and snapped it in half with a single, effortless flick of his wrists.

CRACK.

The broken pieces fell to the floor, landing right at Isaac’s feet.

"I won't hit you, Isaac," Noah said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying rumble. "Because hitting you would mean lowering myself to your pathetic level. A Sterling doesn't need a whip to destroy a bug. We just step on it."

Noah leaned in close, his ice-blue eyes locking onto Isaac’s soul.

"You are going to Fresnes Prison," Noah whispered. "It is a cold, damp, miserable concrete box filled with men who despise rich, soft boys who hurt women. I have three former business associates inside those walls, Isaac. They know your name. They know what you did to my sister."

Isaac’s legs completely gave out. He collapsed into the arms of the two federal officers holding him, letting out a high-pitched, pathetic wail of absolute despair.

"They are going to make sure every single day of your twenty-year sentence feels like thirty lashes," Noah added softly. "Take him away."

The officers dragged the screaming, sobbing heir out through the heavy doors, tossing him into the back of the dark police transport.

Léo walked over to me, taking my hand gently in his. "Caleb has already transferred the deed of this estate to your name, Flora. The bank foreclosed on the Vance mortgage ten minutes ago, and Marc bought it back for one euro."

I looked back at the grand reception hall one last time.

Valérie was still sitting on the cold floor, surrounded by shattered glass and abandoned champagne bottles. Chloé was being loaded into a separate transport in handcuffs, screaming curses at the night sky. The fifty Parisian elites were being led out one by one by federal marshals, their faces shielded from the swarming news cameras that had begun arriving outside the estate gates.

The storm had passed. The Chevreuse Valley manor was silent once more.

I pulled Noah’s heavy cashmere coat tighter around my shoulders, feeling the warmth of my brothers surrounding me like an unbreakable fortress of iron and blood.

"Where would you like to go, little sister?" Léo asked, his face softening into a warm, genuine smile for the first time all night.