Three years after my divorce, I casually asked my right-hand man to find out how my ex-wife was doing. I expected an address, maybe a job.

The atmosphere inside the small flower shop turned lethal in an instant. The sweet fragrance of lilies was completely overwhelmed by the suffocating tension radiating between Julian Vance and me.

Julian didn't look afraid. He was a man accustomed to power, the kind born into wealth that shielded him from the gritty reality of the streets. But he didn't know who he was dealing with. He didn't understand that I didn't play by courtroom rules or financial leverage.

“Adrian, please,” Evelyn gasped, stepping between us, her hands outstretched to push me back. Her touch on my chest was light, but it held more force over me than a loaded weapon. “Don't do this here.”

I looked down at her. Her eyes were wide with a desperation that cut me to the core. I forced my fists to relax, though the muscle in my jaw flexed violently.

“Why is he here, Evelyn?” I asked, keeping my eyes locked on her face. “Why did he answer your phone? Why did he call you his wife?”

Evelyn bit her lower lip, tears welling up again. She looked at Julian, then back at me. “Because legally... he is my husband.”

The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the gut. I took a step back, staring at her in disbelief. “You married him? You replaced me with him?”

“It’s not what you think!” she pleaded, grabbing my coat sleeve. “Adrian, listen to me—”

“Allow me to clarify, Moretti,” Julian interrupted, taking a step forward and smoothing his tie with infuriating composure. “Evelyn needed protection. She came to Boston three years ago alone, pregnant, and terrified. She had no money, no connections, and a criminal ex-husband whose enemies would have slaughtered those babies the second they found out they existed.”

“I would have protected them!” I roared, turning on him.

“How? By bringing them into a warzone?” Julian scoffed, his eyes cold and mocking. “By raising them surrounded by bodyguards, wiretaps, and blood on the doorstep? You are a mob boss, Adrian. You bring death wherever you go. Evelyn knew that. So she came to me.”

“Why you?” I demanded, my voice dangerously low. “Why would a high-society doctor care about a woman running from Chicago?”

Evelyn let out a soft sigh, bowing her head. “Julian’s sister, Clara, was my roommate in college, Adrian. When I showed up in Boston homeless and six months pregnant, Clara took me in. Julian helped pay my medical bills. He got me this shop.”

“And what did he want in return?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at Julian. “Men like him don't do charity for free.”

Julian’s calm facade cracked for a fraction of a second. A flicker of genuine annoyance crossed his features before he recovered.

“What he wanted,” Evelyn said, her voice dripping with bitterness, “was a solution to his own problem.”

I looked between the two of them, pieces of the puzzle starting to connect in my mind. “A solution?”

“My father,” Julian said coldly, dropping the polite act. “Arthur Vance. He controls the Vance Family Trust—a three-billion-dollar portfolio. The trust agreement stipulates that to inherit my share and take over as Chief Executive of the healthcare foundation, I had to be married and producing an heir by my thirty-seventh birthday. My father is an old-school traditionalist. He threatened to disinherit me and pass the empire to my cousin.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “So you used my ex-wife and my children as a prop for your inheritance?”

“It was a mutually beneficial arrangement!” Julian argued, his voice rising. “Evelyn needed legal immunity, a top-tier medical plan for the twins, and a clean identity that your family couldn't track. I needed a wife and children on paper to satisfy my father’s trust conditions. I signed a contract with Evelyn. I provided her with a stipend, a safe house, and full legal protection. In exchange, she signed a paper agreeing to play the role of my devoted wife during corporate galas and family dinners.”

A sickening wave of anger rushed through my veins. Evelyn—my proud, fiercely independent Evelyn—had been forced to sell her life to a corporate shark just to keep my children safe from my world.

“You turned my family into a business transaction,” I whispered, taking a slow, predatory step toward Julian.

“I saved them!” Julian hissed, standing his ground. “While you were playing godfather in Chicago, I paid for Leo’s heart surgery when he was born three weeks premature! I sat in the waiting room while Evelyn cried her eyes out! Where were you, Moretti? Where were you when your son nearly died?!”

The room went dead silent.

Leo’s heart surgery.

The words echoed in my ears, deafening, suffocating. My son had suffered, had nearly died, and I was sitting in mahogany boardrooms counting cartel money. A heavy, crushing weight collapsed onto my chest. I looked at Evelyn. She was trembling, fresh tears silently flowing down her face as she nodded, confirming Julian’s words.

“He had a ventricular septal defect,” Evelyn whispered, her voice barely audible. “A hole in his heart. The doctors said he needed immediate surgery at birth. I didn't have insurance, Adrian. I had six hundred dollars in my bank account. Julian saved his life. He brought in the best pediatric surgeons in the country.”

I swallowed hard, the taste of failure heavy on my tongue. The anger that had been burning inside me suddenly turned inward, consuming me with sheer guilt. Julian Vance was a opportunistic bastard, yes—but he had done what I had failed to do. He had kept my children alive.

“So you see, Moretti,” Julian said, regaining his arrogant posture, stepping closer to Evelyn and resting a hand on her shoulder. Evelyn visibly stiffened under his touch, but she didn't push him away. “Legally, those children bear the Vance name on their trust allocations. Legally, Evelyn is my wife. If you try to intervene, if you try to take them or cause a scandal, my family’s legal team will tie you up in court until you’re an old man. And if that doesn't work, I will leak your identity to the media and federal prosecutors. You step one foot closer to my family, and I will destroy you.”

I looked at Julian’s hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. Then I looked at Evelyn’s eyes. She wasn't looking at Julian with affection. She was looking at him with fear.

It wasn't just a marriage of convenience anymore. Julian Vance had trapped her.

“You made a mistake, Vance,” I said softly, my voice dropping to a register that made even Julian flinch slightly.

“And what mistake is that?” he sneered.

“You assumed I give a damn about your legal team, your money, or your threats,” I said, stepping right up to him until we were chest-to-chest. I was four inches taller, fifty pounds heavier, and I had killed men for far less than touching what belonged to me. “You saved my son’s life, and for that, I won't tear your throat out right here in front of Evelyn. But hear me very clearly: the contract is over.”

“You don't dictate terms here!” Julian snapped, though a bead of sweat broke out on his temple.

“I am Adrian Moretti,” I said calmly, leaning down so only he could hear my next words. “I dictate everything. You have twenty-four hours to sign divorce papers and release Evelyn from whatever legal cage you built around her. If you don't... I will dismantle your father’s empire dollar by dollar, secret by secret. And then I will come for you.”

Julian’s face flushed red with rage, but before he could respond, the shop door opened again.

A middle-aged woman walked in pushing a double stroller. “Evelyn, honey! Sorry I’m a few minutes late from the park, the traffic on Tremont Street was—”

The woman stopped dead in her tracks, sensing the lethal tension in the room.

My heart stopped beating altogether.

Inside the double stroller sat two toddler children. The boy was wearing a blue sweater, clutching a small wooden toy car, staring up at the commotion with wide, curious hazel eyes. And beside him sat the little girl—my daughter—wearing a pink beanie, her dark curls peeking out, looking directly at me.