I was the laughingstock at my sister's wedding for showing up without a date. My own father hu:miliat:ed me by shouting that nobody wanted me, then sh0ved me into the garden fountain while the guests applauded. I warned him not to forget that moment. Twenty minutes later, my billionaire husband arrived, and every smile froze.

Richard Vance didn't transfer the money. He couldn't. The $22 million had already been swallowed by his bad investments and Julian’s crumbling offshore real estate scams.

By 2:00 PM, the Vance Group’s board of directors voted unanimously to remove my father as CEO in a desperate bid to appease Campbell Enterprises. The stock was in a freefall, and the shareholders were terrified of being dragged down in the impending criminal investigation.

But my family wasn't finished fighting. Desperate people are like cornered wolves—they don't look for a logical exit; they look for a throat to tear out.

That evening, I was staying at Blake's penthouse in South Beach, looking out over the ocean while the city lights began to twinkle. Blake was in his study, finalizing the legal takeover documents for the Vance Group's real estate assets.

My personal phone buzzed. It was an unknown number, but when I answered, my mother's frantic, weeping voice came through the speaker.

"Vivienne... please, you have to come to the house," Eleanor sobbed, her voice accompanied by the sound of glass breaking in the background. "Your father... he’s lost his mind. He’s in the study with a gun. He says if you don't drop the fraud charges and get Blake to lift the foreclosure, he's going to end it all. He’s blaming me, he’s blaming Penelope... please, Vivienne, he’s your father!"

A cold dread gripped my stomach. Despite everything he had done, the thought of my father ending his life in the family home made my blood run cold.

"Don't touch anything, Mother," I said, my heart pounding. "Call the police! Don't go near him!"

"He locked the door! He won't list to the police! He said he will only speak to you!" she screamed before the line went completely dead.

I rushed into Blake's study, explaining the situation in a flurry of panic. Blake stood up instantly, his face darkening. "It’s a trap, Vivienne. Your father is a narcissist; narcissists don't kill themselves when they lose money. They try to take their victims with them."

"We don't know that for sure, Blake," I said, my hands trembling as I grabbed my coat. "If he does it, and I did nothing... I can't live with that ghost."

"We’re going," Blake said, his tone brooking no argument. "But you aren't going in alone."

Ten minutes later, a convoy of Blake's security vehicles tore through the rain-slicked streets of Miami toward the Vance family mansion in Coral Gables.

When we arrived, the iron gates of the estate were wide open. The house was completely dark, save for a single light flickering on the second floor—the window of my father’s private study.

Blake’s security team, led by Marcus, moved ahead of us, their weapons drawn, checking the perimeter with tactical precision. Blake kept his hand firmly on my arm, keeping me behind his solid frame as we walked up the grand stone steps—the same steps I had walked down countless times as a child, always feeling small, always feeling unloved.

We pushed the front door open. The grand foyer was dead silent. The air smelled faintly of burnt gunpowder.

"Vivienne?" my mother’s voice called out from the darkness at the top of the stairs. She was standing in the shadows, her face obscured. "Is that you? Did you bring Blake?"

"Mother, where is he?" I called back, stepping into the foyer before Marcus could stop me.

Suddenly, the overhead crystal chandelier flared to life, blinding us for a fraction of a second. From behind the grand staircase, three men in dark hoodies stepped out, their hands holding heavy, industrial-grade cameras and recording equipment. Behind them came Penelope and Julian, accompanied by an older man in a expensive suit whom I recognized as Arthur Sterling, the most ruthless celebrity divorce attorney in the state.

There was no gun. There was no suicide note.