"He abandoned his 3 sons for his first love—2 months later, he showed up at my door terrified."

Inside the Grand Ballroom, three thousand crystal prisms swayed gently beneath the ceiling, casting golden light across three hundred of the city’s most powerful corporate leaders, judges, and shipping magnates.

The occasion was the annual Moretti Logistics Year-End Gala—the exact event where Marcus Reynolds and Sophia intended to publicly announce the merger of the Reynolds Syndicate with Moretti Holdings.

At the head table, wearing an expensive emerald silk gown, stood Sophia Reynolds, sipping champagne alongside her uncle, Marcus Reynolds—a tall, silver-haired man whose sharp jawline and arrogant demeanor commanded the room's attention.

"Where is Vincent?" Marcus asked smoothly, checking his gold pocket watch. "He was supposed to take the podium five minutes ago to sign the trust transfer papers."

"He's probably nursing a drink in the executive suite," Sophia sneered, her manicured fingers twisting her diamond bracelet. "He's been a broken, useless shell since that ordinary girl took his children and left. He has no fight left in him."

BOOM!

The massive, eight-foot carved oak double doors at the rear of the Grand Ballroom didn't just open—they were thrown wide with a sudden, deliberate force that caused the heavy brass handles to crack against the marble walls.

The applause inside the ballroom died in a sudden, chaotic stutter.

Three hundred heads turned in unison toward the archway.

Walking into the ballroom, flanked by twenty broad-shouldered security operators in dark tactical suits led by Leo, was Vincent.

He didn't wear the wrinkled suit or disheveled tie from the night before. He wore an immaculate, bespoke dark tuxedo that fitted his broad six-foot-two frame perfectly. His hair was slicked back, his sharp, carved jawline rigid, his storm-gray eyes holding a lethal, sovereign fire that made every mob captain in the room take a step backward.

And walking directly beside his right shoulder, wearing a breathtaking, floor-length midnight-blue velvet gown, her dark hair falling in glossy waves over her shoulders, her hazel eyes holding zero fear, was me.

I held Vincent’s broad, calloused hand firmly in my palm, my posture royal, my spine straight as a queen returning to her throne.

Sophia Bennett dropped her crystal glass.