"Please—I just need money for food!" The girl's scream cut across the luxury hotel terrace, silencing crystal glasses, soft music, and conversations worth more than her entire life.

The confrontation did not happen in a courtroom, nor in a dark alleyway. It happened on the steps of the Sterling Estate—the historic family mansion that Adrian had seized years ago.

Three days after the warehouse raid, Victoria returned to the estate with a team of state marshals to reclaim her father’s house.

The heavy iron gates were open. The manicured lawns were silent.

Victoria stepped out of the black sedan, accompanied by Julian and two armed marshals. As she walked up the grand stone steps leading to the front doors, she saw a figure sitting on the top step.

It was Adrian.

He was wearing a wrinkled suit, his tie undone, his hair disheveled. His right neck was covered in a thick medical bandage. He held an empty bottle of expensive scotch in one hand and a manila folder in the other. He looked like a ghost haunting the ruins of his own kingdom.

The marshals immediately drew their sidearms. "Adrian Vale! Stay where you are! Hands where we can see them!"

Adrian didn't move. He simply looked up at Victoria with hollow, sunken eyes.

"I built this," he mumbled, his voice raspy and broken. "Every stone... every painting... I earned it."

"You stole it, Adrian," Victoria said, stopping ten feet below him on the stairs. "You stole my father’s life, my sister’s freedom, and twelve years of my existence."

Adrian let out a quiet, pathetic laugh. He threw the manila folder down the stairs. It slid to a stop near Victoria’s feet.

"That's the deed," Adrian whispered. "The unconditional transfer of all Sterling assets back to you and Anna. The banks reclaimed my properties this morning. The government seized my accounts. I have nothing left."

He slowly reached into his jacket pocket. The marshals tensed, their fingers tightening on their triggers.

"Don't do it, Adrian," Victoria warned softly.

Adrian pulled out his hand. It was empty, save for the black onyx ring he had worn on his finger for fifteen years. He looked at it for a long moment, then dropped it onto the stone steps. It rolled down, clicking against the marble until it fell into the drain below.

"I didn't want to kill your father, Victoria," Adrian said, staring up at the clear blue sky. "He just... he wouldn't compromise. He thought honor mattered more than power."

"It does," Victoria said firmly. "That’s why we’re still standing, and you’re going to jail."

Two marshals stepped forward, grabbed Adrian by his arms, and pulled him up. He offered no resistance as they handcuffed his wrists behind his back and led him down the stairs toward the waiting police cruiser.