The first thing I saw was my husband standing half-dressed beside our bed.

At seven months pregnant, the stress of the ongoing legal battles began taking a toll on my body.

One rainy Thursday afternoon, while walking back from a meeting with my father’s former logistics manager, a sharp, piercing pain shot through my lower abdomen.

I gasped, gripping the stone railing outside my apartment building.

"Evelyn!" a voice called out from a parked car across the street.

Damon stepped out of an old sedan—a far cry from the luxury sports cars he used to drive. His hair was messy, his suit unpressed, and he looked haggard from weeks of public disgrace and frozen assets.

"Get away from me, Damon!" I managed to say, holding my belly as another Braxton-Hicks contraction hit me.

"Evelyn, please, listen to me!" Damon begged, running across the street. "I’m not here to fight! Victor is out of his mind! He’s trying to liquidate the remaining offshore assets tonight and skip the country before the federal indictment comes down tomorrow!"

I stared at him, trying to discern if this was another lie.

"Why are you telling me this?" I gasped, leaning heavily against the railing.

"Because he wants to sell your father's logistics warehouses!" Damon said, his voice cracking with genuine panic. "He forged your father's signature on a power-of-attorney release form four hours ago! If he uploads those documents to the offshore portal tonight, the buyers in Panama will transfer the funds, and your father's company will be gutted!"

Damon stepped closer, looking down at my hands clutching my pregnant stomach.

"I know I was a terrible husband," Damon whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I know I betrayed you with Claire, and I know I don't deserve to be in this baby's life. But I won't let my brother ruin the only thing your father built for you. Please... call Victoria now."

Another sharp pain made me bend over.