"HE THOUGHT HIS STEPSISTER WAS JUST MEAN—UNTIL THE POLICE FOUND WHAT WAS HIDDEN UNDER THE DOG HOUSE!"

At Sterling Manor, the atmosphere was suffocating.

Michael had deployed his personal security force around the estate perimeter, but Damian’s legal team had served a temporary freeze on all of Michael’s personal bank accounts. Without funds to pay the private guards, Michael was forced to rely on Detective Miller’s off-duty officers.

"Daddy, why aren't we going to the park today?" Emma asked, sitting on the plush carpet of the living room, clutching her stuffed rabbit.

"Just a little paperwork storm, sweetheart," Michael forced a smile, kneeling beside her. He reached for his glass of iced tea on the coffee table and took a deep drink.

Almost instantly, a sharp, burning sensation stabbed through his chest.

Michael gasped, clutching his throat. The room began to spin violently. The bright sunlight filtering through the bay windows shattered into fractures of blinding white light.

"Daddy?" Emma’s small voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a deep well. "Daddy, what's wrong?"

Michael tried to speak, but his throat muscles locked. He collapsed onto his side, spilling the glass across the rug. The dark liquid soaked into the carpet—emitting the faint, unmistakable smell of bitter almonds.

The front door clicked open.

Damian Sterling walked into the foyer, holding a signed emergency order from the child welfare department, accompanied by two armed state Marshals.

"Oh dear," Damian murmured, looking down at Michael’s twitching body on the floor. "Medical emergency. Marshals, secure the child immediately. Her father is clearly abusing narcotics."