"Her ex thought humiliating her would make him look powerful, but he never expected the feared man sitting nearby to have been watching her all along.

Two weeks later, the courtroom at the Dirksen Federal Building was packed to maximum capacity.

Tyler Sterling sat at the defense table, wearing a bright orange prison jumpsuit, his hands and feet chained, his fractured wrist secured in a medical brace. Across the aisle sat his father, Richard Sterling, looking completely broken as federal prosecutors read through fifty-four counts of racketeering, money laundering, and conspiracy.

Beside Tyler’s charges was a separate indictment: *Attempted aggravated kidnapping, felony assault with a deadly weapon, and terroristic threats against Emily Vance.*

I sat in the front row of the gallery, wearing an elegant ivory wool coat, my head held high.

Sitting directly beside me, his arm draped possessively over the back of my bench, was Vincent DeLuca. He didn't wear a mask of violence today; he wore the quiet, devastating power of a man who had won completely on every front.

When the judge asked Tyler how he pleaded to the charges of assault and kidnapping, Tyler stood on trembling legs.

He turned back toward the gallery. His eyes found mine.

There was no arrogance left in him. No sneer. No cruel jokes about my weight or my worth. He saw the diamond ring shining on my finger—a three-carat cushion-cut flawless diamond Vincent had given me that morning. He saw the peace, the radiance, and the absolute confidence radiating from every pore of my being.

Tyler’s voice was a pathetic whisper.

“Guilty, Your Honor.”

A collective gasp echoed through the courtroom, followed by the sharp crack of the judge’s gavel.

“Tyler Sterling, for the charges of attempted kidnapping and aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, this court sentences you to fourteen years at the Stateville Correctional Center without the possibility of parole for the first ten.”

*Fourteen years.*

Tyler collapsed back into his chair, weeping openly as US Marshals hauled him to his feet and led him through the heavy side door into the holding cells.

He didn't look back again.

As we walked out of the courthouse, the steps were mobbed with reporters, flashing cameras, and citizens who had followed the viral saga from the very beginning.

Vanessa Caldwell was standing near the base of the steps, holding a designer handbag, waiting desperately to catch a glimpse of the cameras. When she saw Vincent and me descending the stairs, she stepped forward, her face twisted in a sickly-sweet, desperate smile.

“Emily!” Vanessa called out, trying to push past the security perimeter. “Emily, darling! I just wanted to say... I am so glad justice was served. Tyler was a monster to both of us. We should have lunch sometime and talk about—”

I stopped on the marble steps, looking down at her.

Vanessa looked hollow. Her desperate grab for clout, her willingness to marry a cruel man for money, had left her completely isolated. The high society she worshipped had already turned its back on her.

“I have nothing to say to you, Vanessa,” I said clearly, my voice carrying over the reporters’ microphones. “You laughed when he humiliated me at that table. You cheered on his cruelty because you thought it made you look superior. You aren't a victim, Vanessa. You’re just an accomplice who ran out of luck.”

Vanessa’s face burned bright red, completely humiliated, as reporters turned their cameras toward her, capturing her shame for the evening news. She turned and fled down the street, disappearing into the Chicago crowd.

Vincent smiled down at me, his eyes gleaming with pride. “You are ruthless, my love.”

“I learned from the best,” I teased, leaning up to kiss his cheek.