“Buy the bastards some milk,” my wealthy fiancée laughed, throwing a $20 bill at my ex-wife. I had thrown my ex out a year ago, believing she cheated. Now she was walking a dirt road, collecting cans with twin babies strapped to her chest. When I saw the babies had my exact hair and eyes, my blood turned ice. My ex just looked at me with terrifying pity. I hunted down the private investigator who handled my divorce. When I forced him open his safe, the documents inside revealed the darkest secret that shattered my life.

I stood back, leaning against the leather seats, watching my ex-wife hold our daughter. I didn’t rush in. I hadn’t earned the right to that embrace. I had been the fool who let the wolves into the house; Maren was the one who had hunted them down.

The aftermath was a brutal, public reckoning.

Tessa and Grant were indicted on a staggering list of federal charges. Grant died in a prison hospital ward six months later, his body rejecting the synthetic treatments he was forced to rely on. Tessa took a plea deal for twenty years to avoid a life sentence.

As I promised, Bellamy Tech was dismantled by the SEC investigation. My assets were frozen, my stock liquidated to pay massive fines for the corporate negligence that allowed Whitmore to launder money through my firm. I lost the Belle Meade mansion. I lost the fleet of cars. I lost the title of CEO.

I had never felt lighter in my entire life.

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