The sharp, metallic chime of crystal breaking against marble echoed through the grand ballroom of the Sterling Estate, cutting off the soft string quartet in an instant.

By midnight, the grand estate was completely locked down. Riston’s private security team, men dressed in dark suits with tactical gear beneath, lined the perimeter of the thirty-acre property in the hills of Virginia.

Inside the master nursery, the lights were dimmed to a soft amber glow. The soft hum of a white noise machine drowned out the howling wind outside. I sat in the plush rocking chair, nursing Clara, watching her tiny hand press against my chest. Her breathing had finally evened out, her eyelashes resting dark against her pale skin.

The door opened silently, and Riston walked in. He had discarded his formal suit jacket and tie, rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. He carried two warm mugs of tea, setting one down on the side table beside my chair before leaning down to press a soft kiss against the crown of my head.

"She's sleeping?" he asked softly.

"Just dropped off," I murmured, glancing up at him. "How are the grounds?"

"Clear. Evelyn’s personal staff packed her things under guard. She’s currently at the St. Regis downtown, surrounded by her lawyers." Riston crouched beside my chair, his hand covering mine where it rested on Clara’s blanket. "I'm sorry, Maya. I should never have allowed her into the nursery room earlier."

"She hid that collar in her coat, Riston," I said, a shudder running down my spine as I remembered the cold leather brushing against my newborn’s skin. "She meant to humiliate us publicly. She wanted to remind everyone that she considers me—and now Clara—nothing more than street trash."

"Evelyn is obsessed with bloodlines," Riston said, his eyes darkening. "She spent forty years controlling my father, telling him who to hire, who to marry, how to live. When he married my mother—a schoolteacher from Ohio—Evelyn made her life a living hell until the day she left. She thought she could do the same to you."

"I'm not your mother, Riston," I said firmly, looking him dead in the eye. "I won't run away. And I won't let her touch our daughter."

"I know," Riston smiled faintly, his thumb tracing the side of my hand. "That slap sounded like a gunshot. Half the board members were secretly thrilled. She's been stepping on their necks for decades."

A quiet knock at the nursery door broke the moment. Marcus, Riston’s chief of security and most trusted confidant, stepped half-way into the room, his face grim.

"Boss," Marcus whispered. "We have a problem."

Riston stood up slowly, smoothing his shirt. "What is it?"

"Evelyn didn't just call her lawyers," Marcus said, holding up an encrypted tablet. "She just filed an emergency petition with the state family court. She’s claiming Maya is mentally unfit, citing the public assault at the party, and is seeking emergency temporary custody of Clara."

I nearly dropped my mug. The tea sloshed against the ceramic rim, hot liquid burning my fingers, but I barely felt it. "Custody? She's trying to take my baby?!"

"On what grounds?" Riston snapped, his body tensing like a coiled spring.

"She brought in three high-society 'witnesses' who signed affidavits claiming Maya has displayed severe postpartum psychosis and erratic behavior since the birth," Marcus replied. "Judge Vance—who happens to owe his appointment to Evelyn’s late husband—just signed an emergency summons. They're serving it tomorrow morning at eight."

Riston took a deep breath, turning to look at me. The soft, gentle husband vanished, replaced instantly by the ruthless corporate titan who had built Sterling Global into an untouchable juggernaut.

"Marcus, wake up our entire legal team," Riston ordered, his voice dropping an octave. "I want Jonathan Vance’s bank accounts audited by sunrise. Find every shell company, every off-shore transfer, every dirty secret that judge has ever hidden. If he thinks he can sign away my daughter, I will destroy his career before breakfast."

"Already on it, boss," Marcus nodded and pulled back into the hallway.

I held Clara tighter against my chest, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Riston... can she actually take her?"