The crystal chandeliers of the Harrington pavilion caught the sudden shift in the room's temperature, casting fractured, restless lights across the faces of two hundred stunned society guests.

The following week was a whirlwind of forensic accounting, legal depositions, and media firestorms. The story dominated national headlines: The Frozen Bride Strikes Back. Tabloids printed side-by-side photos of me walking down the icy driveway with Lily, and the newly released security footage of Patricia watching us from the warm doorway while Lucas slammed the door.

I established my temporary headquarters in the downtown offices of Grant & Associates. The glass-walled conference room was piled high with financial ledgers, hard drives, and corporate restructuring plans.

Helena Grant dropped a fresh dossier onto my desk.

"The board of Harrington Medical Systems called an emergency meeting this morning," Helena said, her eyes gleaming with professional satisfaction. "With Lucas in federal custody and Patricia’s shares seized under the RICO act, the institutional investors voted unanimously to restructure the board. They want you as CEO, Emma."

I looked up from a spreadsheet detailing the diverted R&D funds. "Me? I thought they’d want someone with a traditional corporate background to distance themselves from the scandal."

"They want stability, and more importantly, they want the person who actually wrote the algorithms that made the company profitable in the first place," Helena replied. "Without your name on the patents, the company’s valuation drops by seventy percent. You aren't just the wronged wife here, Emma. You’re the majority stakeholder."

My phone buzzed on the desk. An incoming call from an unlisted, secure line—the federal correctional facility downtown.

I swiped to answer, putting it on speaker so Helena and Marcus could hear.

"Maya?" Lucas’s voice sounded thin, desperate, and hollowed out by fear. "Maya, please. You have to take my call. They’re talking about twenty years. Twenty years, Maya! We were married—we had a life together."

"You had a life where you tried to kill your wife and newborn child for a tax write-off and a mistress with expensive tastes," I replied calmly.

"It was Mother!" he sobbed, his voice cracking into an ugly, pathetic whine. "Mother told me you’d ruin everything if the board found out about the deficit! She made me do it!"

"And when you shoved me into the snow, Lucas? Was that your mother’s hands on my back?"

Silence stretched over the line, heavy and suffocating.

"Please," he whispered. "Tell the DA you lied. Tell them it was a misunderstanding. I'll give you everything—the house, the cars, the accounts—"

"You don't have anything left to give, Lucas," I said. "The house was bought out by my father's estate trust yesterday. Your accounts are frozen. Your mistress has already retained a high-powered divorce lawyer to sue you for misrepresentation of assets. You are entirely, perfectly alone."

I hung up and blocked the number.