"“I’m taking Sophia out first,” Vincent promised before leading another woman to safety while leaving his pregnant wife behind to burn.

Vincent stood frozen as the ghost of his past dismantled him piece by piece.

“Why didn't you let me know you were alive?” Vincent choked out, the agony in his voice unmasked. “Do you have any idea what those three years were like? I went back for you! Anna, I swear to God, I turned back to the jet! But the wing tanks ignited—it blew before I could reach the stairs!”

Anna let out a hollow, bitter laugh that cut deeper than any blade.

“You went back?” she asked, tilting her head, her gaze dripping with mockery. “How noble. How heroic. You took Sophia to safety, ensured your precious first love didn't have a single scratch on her designer shoes, and then—out of the kindness of your heart—you decided to remember that your pregnant wife was still inside a burning coffin.”

“The fire started in the rear galley!” Vincent argued desperately, stepping toward her with his hands raised in surrender. “Sophia was having an asthma attack, she was suffocating! I thought I had three minutes! I thought—”

“You didn't think of me at all!” Anna screamed, the dam finally breaking. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back with fierce, defiant pride. “Do you want to know what happened after you jumped out that door, Vincent?”

Vincent felt his knees weaken. “Tell me.”

“The ceiling collapsed,” Anna said, her voice dropping into a flat, haunting monotone. “A support beam pinned my legs against the seats. The smoke was so thick I couldn't see my own hands. I screamed for you. I screamed until my vocal cords bled. I held my belly, and I promised our baby that his father was coming back. Because his father was Vincent Moretti. His father was the invincible man who ruled Chicago.”

A single tear escaped down Anna’s cheek, which she wiped away furiously with the back of her hand.

“You never came,” she continued, each word plunging like a dagger into Vincent’s heart. “The cargo hatch below the cabin cracked open when the fuselage twisted on impact. A flight attendant—someone you didn't even know the name of—dragged me out through the undercarriage into the snow. Five seconds later, the main tank blew.”

Vincent dropped his head into his hands, a ragged sob tearing from his chest. “God… Anna…”

“I lay in the freezing mud for six hours while your search teams scoured the burning wreckage two miles up the ridge,” Anna said, her voice chillingly calm now. “By the time a local ranger found me, hypothermia had set in. I went into premature labor in a rural clinic with no anesthesia, bleeding out on a plastic cot.”

She stepped forward, jabbing a manicured finger directly into Vincent’s chest.

“Julian Vance’s medical transport intercepted the emergency radio signal. His family saved my life. Julian held my hand while doctors fought for fourteen hours to keep Leo alive. *He* was there when our son took his first breath. *He* was there when I had to undergo three skin graft surgeries on my legs.”

Anna glared into Vincent’s shattered eyes.

“Where were you, Vincent? Oh, that’s right. You were holding a lavish memorial service in Chicago, comforted by Sophia Carter. You moved on. You gave up. And now you dare to show up and demand rights to my child?”

“I didn't move on!” Vincent dropped to his knees right in front of her on the carpet, uncaring of his pride, uncaring of his empire. “I have lived in hell every single day of my life, Anna! Look at me! I haven't slept a full night in three years!”

Anna looked down at him kneeling at her feet.

There was no pity in her eyes. Only the cold, unforgiving judgment of a woman who had clawed her way back from the underworld.