"My husband gave my engagement ring to another woman in front of 118 wedding guests because I refused to sign away my company. Dominic thought publicly humiliating me at the Serrano Grand Hotel would force me to surrender, but when I calmly walked away and hit record on a hidden phone, he accidentally confessed to a corporate conspiracy that was about to destroy his entire empire."

The guests had long since dispersed, fleeing into the chilly Manhattan night like rats deserting a sinking ship once the whispers of an impending federal scandal leaked from the ballroom. The white orchids were already wilting under the heat of the stage lights, and the tiered wedding cake sat untouched, its white frosting hardening into a symbol of corporate arrogance.

My mother and I rode the private elevator down to the subterranean executive parking garage.

As the stainless-steel doors slid open, my phone buzzed violently in my hand.

It was a text message from Harriet Blake, my attorney:

Injunction granted by Judge Kavanaugh at 1:04 AM. All revolving credit lines for Serrano Capital frozen across three major clearinghouses. Asset seizure orders dispatched to the sheriff's department.

A dark, grim satisfaction washed over me.

We walked toward my vintage Aston Martin parked in the private stall near the exit. But before I could press the key fob, a tall shadow detached itself from the concrete pillar beside my car.

Dominic.

He had discarded his Brioni suit jacket. His silk bow tie was undone, hanging loosely around his collar, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. The polished, untouchable billionaire heir was gone; in his place stood a desperate man whose empire was bleeding out in real-time.

“You did it, didn't you?” Dominic’s voice echoed in the cavernous concrete garage, tight and vibrating with suppressed fury. He stepped directly into my path, blocking the driver’s side door. “You froze our operating accounts. My clearing banks are calling me every thirty seconds.”

I stopped a few feet away, my hands tucked into the pockets of my wool coat. I didn't look intimidated. I looked bored.

“Your clearing banks are calling you because you’re insolvent, Dominic,” I said evenly. “When you spend fourteen months embezzling working capital from subsidiary accounts to fund hostile takeovers, the math tends to catch up with you.”

“That money was going to be ours once the merger finalized!” he hissed, taking a threatening step forward.

My mother instantly stepped between us, her eyes flashing with ice. “Don't you dare take another step toward her, Dominic. You crossed every legal and moral line tonight. The police are already reviewing the data packets.”

Dominic laughed—a harsh, manic sound that bounced off the concrete walls. He looked past my mother, fixing his blazing eyes on me.

“You think you’ve won, Cecily? You think because you stopped the merger tonight, you’re safe?” He shook his head slowly, a sinister smile creeping onto his face. “You don't understand how deep this goes. Serrano Capital isn't just my company. It’s backed by the Board of Trustees—men who don't care about your software, your employees, or your petty little revenge. If you don't call off your lawyers and sign the asset transfer by sunrise, I will make sure not a single venture capital firm in North America ever funds a project with your name on it again. I will blacklist you out of the tech industry forever.”

I stared at him for a long moment, studying the man I had once thought I would spend the rest of my life with.

How pathetic he looked, standing in a concrete parking garage, threatening my career while his own world collapsed around his ankles.

“Blacklist me?” I asked softly, tilting my head. “Dominic, by sunrise, you won't have the legal standing to blacklist a dog catcher, let alone a tech founder.”

Before he could answer, the sharp, wailing sirens of multiple black-and-white police cruisers echoed down the concrete ramp of the garage. The harsh glare of red and blue emergency lights washed over the white pillars, painting the garage in a strobe-light nightmare.

Two cruisers skidded to a halt directly behind Dominic’s imported sports car, blocking all exits.

Four uniformed officers stepped out, accompanied by a federal marshal holding a thick manila folder.

Dominic spun around, his face draining of all color as the marshal approached him with cold, bureaucratic precision.

“Dominic Serrano?” the marshal asked, holding up an official badge.

“There must be some mistake—” Dominic started, raising his hands defensively.

“No mistake, Mr. Serrano,” the marshal interrupted smoothly, snapping heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists with a sharp, metallic click. “You are under arrest for wire fraud, securities manipulation, and unauthorized acquisition of protected intellectual property.”

As Dominic was shoved toward the back of the police cruiser, he twisted his head around, locking eyes with me one last time through the barred rear window.