The cold fluorescent lights of Marcus Vance’s private investigative agency hummed above my head, a low, maddening vibration that seemed to synchronize with the erratic pounding of my pulse.

The rain was falling in heavy, rhythmic sheets by the time I pulled my SUV up the long, winding drive of the Bellamy estate—the historic stone manor that my grandfather had built and that Maren had spent three years turning into a home.

Warm light glowed from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the dining room. As I stepped out into the downpour, the scent of lavender and cedar filled the night air, but all I could smell was the phantom stench of burning butter and country dust.

I pushed open the heavy oak front doors.

In the grand foyer, surrounded by half-packed boxes of wedding favors and crystal champagne flutes, stood Tessa Whitmore. She was wearing a silk ivory robe, her blonde hair pinned back flawlessly, a glass of vintage Pinot Noir dangling effortlessly between her manicured fingers.

"Rowan!" she exclaimed, a bright, beautiful smile instantly lighting up her face as she walked toward me. "Where have you been, darling? The caterers called twice about the rehearsal dinner menu, and your mother wanted to know if—"

She stopped dead in her tracks.

The smile faltered, dropping away like a mask, as she took in my appearance. My suit jacket was soaked through with rainwater. My hair was plastered to my forehead. And in my right hand, I was clutching the leather briefcase with a force that turned my knuckles white.

"Rowan?" she asked, her tone shifting from playful to cautious. "What happened? Did something go wrong at the office?"

"Where are they, Tessa?" I asked quietly, closing the front door behind me. The heavy wood clicked shut with a sound like a tomb closing.

She blinked, forcing a slight, confused laugh. "Where are what, sweetheart? What are you talking about?"

"The babies," I said, stepping into the foyer. "My children. The ones you looked at five hours ago on the side of the road before you threw twenty dollars into the mud."

Tessa’s eyes narrowed slightly, a microscopic shift that only someone who had lived with her for a year would notice. "Rowan, don't be ridiculous. That was your ex-wife trying to pull a pathetic guilt trip. You don't honestly believe those children are yours, do you? She’s been sleeping around since before you two split! That was the whole reason we—"

"Shut up," I said. It wasn't a shout. It was a cold, absolute command that cut her off mid-sentence.

I walked over to the mahogany entryway table, unzipped the briefcase, and pulled out the stack of documents. I threw them onto the table between us.

The wire transfers. The signed statement from the hotel clerk admitting he was bribed. The witness confession. And right on top, the certified copy of the twin birth certificates bearing my name.

Tessa didn't immediately look at the papers. Instead, she looked at my face, searching for any sign of hesitation, any weakness she could exploit. When she found none, her gaze slowly drifted down to the top document.

She saw the logo of the private investigator’s firm. She saw the wire transfer account numbers.

The silence in the foyer grew so heavy that the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner sounded like cannon fire.

Slowly, deliberately, Tessa set her wine glass down on the table beside the papers. She didn't cry. She didn't look remorseful. The delicate, loving socialite I had been planning to marry simply vanished, replaced by the calculating, cold daughter of a corporate raider.

"You went to Marcus," she said, her voice dropping an octave, completely devoid of its usual warmth.

"You framed her," I said, step by step moving closer until I was standing right in front of her. "You paid him to place my family’s necklace in her closet. You manufactured bank statements. You bought off hotel staff. You stripped her of her dignity, her home, her reputation—and then you let me throw her out while she was carrying my children!"

Tessa let out a soft, contemptuous scoff. She crossed her arms, looking at me with absolute disdain.

"She was a schoolteacher's daughter, Rowan," Tessa spat, her eyes glinting with a sharp, ugly arrogance. "She didn't belong in this house. She didn't belong at your side at the galas. She was weak! She was content with a simple life while you were trying to build an empire. You needed someone with power. Someone with connections. Someone who could secure your seat at the table!"

"She was my wife!" I roared, the rage finally exploding from my chest. "And those are my children!"

"They are bastard children born in a ditch!" Tessa shouted back, her posture rigid, her chin lifted. "Look at what she turned into! A beggar picking up garbage on the side of the road! Do you really think anyone in our circle will care about her, Rowan? Do you think the board will care? If you blow this up now, my father will pull every institutional investor from Bellamy Global before the market opens on Monday morning. You will be ruined!"

I looked at the woman standing in front of me. I looked at her polished skin, her expensive robe, her diamonds—and for the first time, I saw the hollow, grotesque void inside her.

"Get out," I said softly.

Tessa froze. "What?"

"Get out of my house," I repeated, my voice steady, unyielding, and dead. "Take your clothes. Take your ring. Take your wedding plans. If you are still on this property in thirty minutes, I will call the police and have you arrested for criminal conspiracy and fraud."

A dark, venomous smile spread across Tessa's lips. "You're bluffing. You love your company too much. You worked ten years to build Bellamy Global."

"I thought I loved my company," I replied, staring directly into her cold eyes. "Until five hours ago, when I saw the mother of my children carrying my blood on the side of a dirt road while I sat in a luxury car beside a monster. Take your things, Tessa. We're done."

She stared at me for three long seconds, waiting for me to break, waiting for the corporate strategist in me to recalculate the financial loss. But when she saw only absolute, uncompromising hatred in my eyes, her smile vanished.