The apartment was deathly quiet after the front door clicked shut. My mother’s venomous parting words still hung in the air, but they were nothing compared to the cold weight settling in my chest. Savannah was in our bedroom, the door closed, likely curled up in the dark.

"End of the line, Mom."

My voice echoed off the cavernous metal walls of the warehouse, cutting through the argument like a gunshot.

All three heads snapped toward the doorway.

My mother’s face drained of all color, her jaw dropping open. Victor Vance instantly dropped his hand toward his jacket, but before he could draw his weapon, the heavy side door was kicked wide open.

Stepping out of the shadows wasn't just me—it was a tactical team of four private security specialists hired by Savannah’s corporate security network, dressed in unmarked tactical gear with non-lethal deterrents drawn.

"Don't even think about it, Victor," one of the guards commanded, leveling a Taser straight at his chest.

Victor froze, slowly raising his empty hands into the air.

My mother backed up against the metal table, her eyes darting wildly around the room like a trapped animal. "Christopher... what... what is the meaning of this? These men—this woman—she’s insane!"

"No, Mom," I said, stepping into the light, my voice steady, devoid of any hesitation or filial guilt for the first time in my life. "She’s sane. And I’m finally awake."

Savannah walked in behind me, her posture upright, radiating a quiet, terrifying authority that commanded the entire room. She looked at my mother, then at Richard, who was trembling so hard he looked like he might pass out.

"Bernice Miller," Savannah said, her voice cutting through the damp air like a blade. "Extortion, corporate sabotage, physical assault, and conspiracy to commit aggravated battery. The police are five minutes away. And unlike your little blackmail schemes, our evidence doesn't rely on threats—it's streaming live to the federal district attorney's office right now."

Bernice’s face twisted into an ugly, venomous mask of pure hatred. She lunged forward, grabbing a heavy glass ashtray from the table.

"You ruined everything!" she shrieked, charging directly toward Savannah with the ashtray raised high.

"SAVANNAH!" I screamed, lunging forward.

Before I could reach them, Savannah didn't even flinch. With the cool precision of someone who had spent years learning self-defense in corporate boardrooms and private training camps, she sidestepped my mother’s clumsy charge, caught her by the wrist with a sharp twist, and swept her legs out from under her.