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

The rain poured in relentless sheets over the Gold Coast high-rise where Julian Vance kept his private Chicago penthouse.

Inside the nursery, three-year-old Leo sat on a plush carpet, building a tower out of wooden blocks.

Anna sat on the sofa nearby, watching him. Her laptop was open, displaying the stock price of Moretti Industries plummeting after Vance Global had effectively blocked their major shipping routes.

Her revenge was progressing flawlessly.

Yet, as she looked at her son’s grey eyes, an ache in her chest refused to subside. Seeing Vincent on his knees had not brought her the absolute peace she had envisioned for three years. It had only reopened a wound that had never truly healed.

Her phone chimed. A message from Julian:

*“DNA laboratory confirmed the courier delivered the sample Vincent’s team took from the gala floor. The results will be uploaded to his secure portal within the hour.”*

Anna closed her eyes. Vincent had lifted a discarded juice cup Leo had touched near the ballroom fountain. She knew it. She had seen Marcus Croft hovering near the staff.

She didn't try to stop it.

Because running was over.

Twenty minutes later, the private elevator chimed.

The security guards outside the suite didn't draw their weapons. Julian had given specific orders: *Let him come up.*

Vincent stepped into the foyer. He was soaked through. His coat was drenched from the rain, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. In his trembling hand, he held a manila envelope.

Anna stood up, walking into the foyer to block the view of the nursery.

“You shouldn't be here,” she said coldly.

Vincent held up the envelope. “99.98%.”

His voice was barely audible above the sound of the rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“He is my son.”

Anna crossed her arms, unflinching. “On paper. Genetically. That is all he is to you, Vincent.”

Vincent took a step forward, his eyes bloodshot, his face pale with raw exhaustion. “Anna, Sophia is gone. She’s facing federal charges for what she did to the plane. She’s finished. I swear to you on my mother’s grave, I had no idea—”

“Do you think I care about Sophia?” Anna cut him off, her voice ringing clear and brutal. “Do you honestly think my anger belongs to her?”

Vincent stopped, confused.

“Sophia was a snake. She acted like a snake,” Anna said, stepping closer until she was inches away from him. “I expected her to be selfish. I expected her to try to destroy me. But you, Vincent? You were my husband. You were the man who placed a ring on my finger and swore before God to protect me above all others.”

Vincent choked on his breath.

“You chose her,” Anna whispered, the pain finally bleeding through her composed exterior. “When the siren sounded, when the cabin filled with smoke, you looked into my eyes, you saw my terror, and you walked toward another woman. That choice wasn't Sophia’s fault. It was yours.”

Vincent fell to his knees again, right there in the entryway, the rainwater dripping from his clothes pooling onto the polished wood.

“I know,” he whispered, his shoulders shaking as he wept openly, stripping away every ounce of his pride, his mafia legacy, his power. “I know I failed you. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness. I don't care about my empire, Anna. Take it. Take every company, every dock, every dollar I own. Destroy me. But please… don't keep me from my son. Let me at least be his father.”

From around the corner of the nursery doorway, a small voice broke the silence.

“Mommy?”