A barefoot boy showed up at my mansion carrying my son's shoes, and in that moment, every lie I'd been told began to collapse. For ten years, I had believed the woman I loved had betrayed me and died. But when my mother saw the boy, she turned pale—as if the darkest secret of her life had just walked back through the door.

I stood up from the kitchen table and walked to the front door, pulling it open.

Standing on the porch, drenched by the freezing rain, was Frank—my mother’s head of security and confidential fixer for thirty years. Behind him idling at the curb was Eleanor's black sedan.

"Mr. Vance," Frank said stiffly, water dripping from the brim of his fedora. "Mrs. Vance sent me. She insists on a private conversation before you do something irreversible."

"Tell my mother she can go to hell," I said coldly, my hand resting on the brass doorknob.

"Sir, Mrs. Vance is your mother, but she is also the primary shareholder of the Vance Foundation," Frank warned quietly, his eyes drifting past my shoulder into the small living room where Marianne stood watching. "If you make a public scandal out of this, the board will call an emergency vote by dawn. Your CEO position, your trusts, your properties—they can freeze everything under the morality clause of the corporate charter."

I stared at Frank. For ten years, that threat would have made me hesitate. Vance Industries was my life's work; I had bled for every square foot of downtown real estate we owned.

Then I heard Eli laughing upstairs, talking to Owen over a walkie-talkie they must have traded earlier that day.

The corporate charter didn't mean a damn thing.

"Let them freeze it," I said flatly. "Tell the board to draft their resignation letters, Frank. Because by noon tomorrow, I am filing a paternity petition in federal court, and I am launching a criminal investigation into my mother for kidnapping, extortion, and fraud."

Frank’s face drained of color. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He knew me well enough to know when a line had been crossed.

"Give my mother a message," I added, my voice cutting like broken glass. "Tell her to pack a bag. Because when I am done with her, she won't even own the clothes on her back."

I slammed the door in his face.

When I turned around, Marianne was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest, watching me with wide, stunned eyes.

"You're willing to lose everything?" she asked softly. "Your company? Your status? Your mother's approval?"

"My mother's approval is a cage, Marianne," I said, walking across the worn rug until I stood directly in front of her. I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as I touched a lock of her soft hair—hair I had dreamed of touching every night for a decade. "And as for the company... I built it once. I can build it again. The only thing that matters in this house is you and our son."

Marianne looked up at me, a single tear spilling over her lashes and tracing a path down her cheek.