My thumb traced Arya’s elegant signature across the crisp, expensive paper. It was a prenuptial amendment—not just dividing assets, but formally establishing that in the event of my permanent "incapacitation," all voting shares of Corvino Holdings, our shipping infrastructure, and our real estate empire would immediately transfer to sole trusteeship under Dominic Vance, my cousin, and Arya herself.

With a swift, practiced movement, she swept her leg out, kicking the back of Dominic's knee with brutal force. Dominic let out a sharp cry of pain, tumbling hard onto the marble floor, the heavy brass statue clattering uselessly across the room.

Before he could push himself back up, two of our security guards pinned him securely to the ground.

Arya stared at the scene, her chest heaving, her designer dress rumpled, all of her icy sophistication completely shattered. She fell to her knees beside the coffee table, her hands trembling.

"You can't do this, Vincent," Arya whispered, tears welling in her eyes—the same manipulative tears that had fooled me for years. "We were going to get married... we loved each other..."

I walked slowly over to her, stopping a yard away. I looked down at her, feeling neither anger nor sorrow. Just hollow, profound emptiness where love had once lived.

"You didn't love me, Arya," I said quietly. "You loved the name, the power, and the bank accounts attached to it. The moment I needed you to stand by me, you tried to bury me."

I reached into my pocket, pulling out the remnants of the prenuptial documents she had manipulated months ago, and dropped them onto her lap.

"The authorities are waiting downstairs," I continued. "Embezzlement, conspiracy to commit medical fraud, and corporate sabotage. You'll spend the next decade wishing you had just stayed away."