The rhythmic clack-clack-clack of Victoria’s Christian Louboutin heels echoing down the marble hallway was a sound I had associated with elegance for seven years.

The penthouse on Park Avenue smelled of copper, expensive perfume, and rain when I stepped through the front door at 4:30 AM.

The living room was illuminated only by the dim city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Standing near the grand piano were three of my elite security guards, their hands resting on their holstered sidearms.

Sitting on the velvet sofa, looking disheveled and frantic, was Victoria. Bound to two dining chairs across from her were Richard Vance—a slimy, middle-aged man with greasy dark hair and a broken nose from Arthur’s tackle—and Marcus Sterling, her high-priced family lawyer.

When I stepped into the room, taking off my wet coat, the silence was suffocating.

"Julian!" Victoria gasped, standing up instantly. "This is insane! Your thugs assaulted my attorney! They intercepted my guest in the garage! You can't keep us hostage in our own home!"

"This isn't your home anymore, Victoria," I said calmly, tossing a thick blue folder onto the marble coffee table in front of her.

Marcus Sterling cleared his throat nervously, his bow tie crooked. "Mr. Cole, as Mrs. Cole's legal representative, I must warn you that holding us against our will constitutes illegal confinement—"

"Shut up, Marcus," I interrupted without even looking at him. "Or I will inform the New York Bar Association about the six offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands where you’ve been laundering Victoria's embezzled money for the past three years."

Sterling’s face turned gray. He instantly shut his mouth and looked down at his shoes.

I turned my attention to Richard Vance, who was sweating profusely through his cheap leather jacket.

"Richard Vance," I mused, stepping closer to him. "The man who left his twenty-two-year-old wife in a charity ward with a dying baby, ran off to Atlantic City, lost a hundred grand, and then sold his ex-wife's private medical files to my wife for forty pieces of silver."

"I... I didn't know she was gonna hurt Emily!" Richard stammered, his yellowed eyes wild with panic. "Mrs. Cole told me she just wanted to hire a reliable nanny! She paid me fifty grand to get Emily's medical history! That's all!"

"Liars," I scoffed softly, turning back to Victoria. "You really assembled a pathetic crew of vultures, didn't you, my love?"

Victoria crossed her arms, her jaw set in a hard, stubborn line. "So you found the genetic reports. So what? You can't prove I committed fraud, Julian! The twins carry your surname! Legally, I am their mother!"

"Not for long," my chief attorney, Thomas Vance (no relation to Emily), announced as he stepped out of the private study carrying a briefcase.

Thomas placed three sets of legal documents on the table.

"As of 3:00 AM," Thomas explained smoothly, "we filed an emergency injunction with Judge Holloway. Based on the physical evidence of assault recorded by the nursery room's nanny cam—"

Victoria froze. "What nanny cam?"

I pulled my phone from my pocket and pressed play on a video file.

The screen illuminated the dark room, broadcasting crystal-clear high-definition video and audio of Victoria slapping Emily, tying her wrists to the headboard, strapping the crying twins to her chest, and laughing while telling her to forget her dying son.

Victoria’s knees buckled. She fell back onto the sofa as if she had been shot through the heart.

"You... you put cameras in the nursery?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I put cameras in every room of this house six months ago when I noticed money disappearing from the foundation accounts," I revealed coldly. "I saw everything, Victoria. Every strike. Every cruel word. Every tear Emily shed while trying to protect my children from you."

Thomas stepped forward, handing her a pen.

"You have two choices, Mrs. Cole," Thomas said without a trace of pity. "Option one: You sign these uncontested divorce papers, surrender all claims to the Cole trust, relinquish all parental rights to Leo and Maya, and transfer the deed of your Hamptons estate back to Mr. Cole."

"And option two?" Victoria choked out, tears finally ruining her mascara.

"Option two," I leaned down until my eyes were inches from hers, "I hand this video footage and the embezzlement files to the District Attorney. You will be indicted on felony assault, unlawful imprisonment, child endangerment, and grand larceny by noon. You will serve fifteen years in Bedford Hills Correctional Facility."