My husband threw me out into the rain—six months pregnant—while his mistress laughed beside him.

By the end of the week, the fall of the Hawthorne family had become the biggest scandal in the city’s high-society history.

Adrian’s company was forced into involuntary Chapter 7 liquidation. His personal assets were seized to pay off the pension funds he had looted. Eleanor, unable to pay her massive country club debts or her private health insurance, was forced to move into a tiny, cramped one-bedroom apartment in a rundown suburb, stripped of her servants, her fur coats, and her social standing.

Vanessa, realizing that Adrian was heading to federal prison and possessed no remaining wealth, attempted to sue him for child support, only for a court-ordered paternity test to reveal that the baby she was carrying didn't even belong to Adrian—it belonged to a low-level tennis instructor at the country club.

Despite the total destruction of his life, Adrian refused to disappear quietly.

Driven by desperation and the delusion that he could somehow win back his former status, Adrian contacted a major tabloid news outlet, agreeing to an exclusive tell-all interview.

On Thursday evening, a promotional clip aired across national entertainment networks. Adrian sat in a cheap hotel room, looking pale and gaunt, claiming that he was the victim of a ruthless, corporate takeover orchestrated by the shadowy billionaire Arthur Vale and his “manipulative” daughter.

“She hid her identity from me,” Adrian claimed in the interview clip, squeezing out fake tears for the camera. “She trapped me in a marriage built on secrets. And when I tried to end it peacefully, her father used his billions to destroy my family business and leave me homeless.”

The media storm was immediate. Tabloid reporters began circling the gates of the Vale Estate, demanding statements.

I sat in my father’s study, watching the clip repeat on the evening news.

“We can file a defamation lawsuit within an hour,” Evelyn Vance suggested, her fingers hovering over her keyboard. “We can shut down the broadcast before the full interview airs tomorrow night.”

“No,” I said, standing up from my chair.

Dad looked at me, surprised. “Claire?”

“If we shut it down through lawyers, people will think we have something to hide,” I said, my eyes burning with a calm, dangerous focus. “Adrian wants a public spectacle. He wants the city to judge us.”

I looked at my father. “Host a press conference at the Vale Tower downtown tomorrow at noon. Open it to every major news outlet in the country.”

Dad’s lips curved into a proud smile. “What are you going to do, sweetheart?”