My husband introduced another woman as his wife in front of our son, but he had no idea the woman he humiliated was the last person he should have betrayed.

By midnight, while Andrew was still trapped in a holding room downstairs answering questions from Blackstone’s corporate legal counsel, my father’s emergency board meeting had already been convened via a secure conference call.

I sat at the head of the mahogany dining table in our penthouse apartment, a cup of black coffee cooling beside my elbow. Noah was fast asleep in his bedroom down the hall, clutching his blue gift box like a teddy bear.

My phone buzzed continuously on the polished wood—text messages, missed calls from financial journalists, frantic voicemails from Andrew’s mother, and a dozen emails from executive headhunters asking if the rumors about Blackstone's sudden leadership shakeup were true.

The door to the penthouse clicked open.

Heavy, exhausted footsteps dragged across the entryway.

Andrew walked into the dining room. His tie was gone, his collar was unbuttoned, and his suit looked like he had slept in a dumpster. The confident, brilliant executive was completely gone; in his place stood a broken, hollowed-out shell of a man.

He stopped at the edge of the light, staring at me.

"They fired me," he whispered, his voice dead. "The board voted unanimously thirty minutes ago. Suspension pending formal termination for corporate fraud and ethics violations. They’re auditing every expense report I submitted for the last three years."

I didn't look up from my laptop. "Good."

"Good?" A hysterical laugh escaped his throat. He took a step forward, his hands trembling. "Elena, do you realize what you’ve done? I gave that company six years of my life! I built the Asia-Pacific portfolio! I made them millions!"

"You made yourself millions using my family's name as a stepping stone," I replied coldly, finally raising my eyes to meet his. "You forgot whose foundation you were standing on, Andrew. You thought marrying me meant you inherited the throne. You didn't realize you were just renting space."

He flinched as if I had struck him again.

"Sophia was a mistake," he muttered, dropping his head into his hands. "A stupid, meaningless distraction. She meant nothing."

"Save it for the judge," I said, sliding a thick manila folder across the table toward him. "Sign the property waivers and the custody relinquishment forms by nine tomorrow morning, or my father’s legal team will ensure you leave this divorce with nothing more than the clothes on your back and the shoes on your feet."

Andrew stared at the folder like it was a venomous snake.

"Custody?" His head snapped up, rage briefly flashing through his hollow eyes. "You want to take my son from me?!"

"You don't get to call him your son," I stood up, my height and presence towering over him despite my smaller stature. "A father doesn't leave his five-year-old child waiting in a hotel lobby while he parades his mistress in front of the world. You forfeited the right to be a father the moment you decided to humiliate us."

He lunged forward, his hands slamming onto the edge of the table. "You can't do this! I'll fight you in court! I'll drag your name through the mud—"

Before he could finish the sentence, the front door of the penthouse swung open again.

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed down the hall.

A tall, silver-haired man in a bespoke navy overcoat walked into the dining room. His face was carved from granite, his cold grey eyes fixed entirely on Andrew.

Harrison Vance.

Chairman of Blackstone Energy. My father.