Twenty-four hours later, Victor stepped into the freezing rain at the legendary Rosecliff Manor, shielding Kendra’s metallic gold wrap dress. Tonight was the Hartwell Group’s elite billionaire gala. Victor thought he was about to meet the elusive Arthur Hartwell. He thought he had won.
At the mansion’s stone courtyard, his phone violently buzzed. Then buzzed again. Dozens of notifications cascaded across his screen. Accounts frozen. Federal warrants issued. Assets seized.
Kendra shrieked, dropping her designer clutch as her own phone flashed a zero balance.
Then, Victor saw me.
I knelt on the wet, reflective cobblestones in the pouring rain, my blonde hair pinned up, wearing the exact strapless white lace dress from our cheap city hall wedding. A final, theatrical trap.
Victor marched over, his face twisted in mocking disgust. Kendra strutted right beside him, laughing arrogantly at the sight of me. “You followed me here?” Victor sneered, looking down at me in his sharp black suit. “You think begging will get your pathetic life back?”
I held my phone to my ear, weeping desperately into the receiver. “Dad… they’re here.”
Headlights suddenly cut through the dark, cinematic blue shadows. A black luxury sedan pulled up just inches away. Behind the glass, my father, Arthur Hartwell, lowered his phone. His silver hair gleamed; his expression was stone-cold, fiercely protective, and utterly ruthless.
My tears stopped instantly.
The cold rain washed over my face as my eyes locked onto Victor’s. The helpless despair vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a venomous, predatory wrath. I slowly tilted my chin up, the crushing weight of my true power finally unleashed.
Victor stepped back, the arrogant smirk draining from his face as federal agents stepped out of the shadows.
I stared dead into his eyes and delivered my final vow.
“I’m not begging for my life, Victor. I’m ending yours.”