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The hospital room smelled sharply of bleach and antiseptic, a stark contrast to the suffocating scent of the white roses scattered across the linoleum floor. Flynn remained frozen beside the bed, his broad shoulders slumped, the formidable CEO of Vance Global reduced to a hollow, trembling shell. / Chapter 3 / 19

Chapter 3 - The Interrogation Room

The arrest of Selina Cole sent shockwaves through the upper echelons of Chicago society.

Within hours, headlines blasted across every financial and tabloid site: VANCE GLOBAL CEO’S MISTRESS ARRESTED IN CONNECTION TO BRUTAL STABBING AND UNBORN CHILD LOSS.

Flynn sat in a holding cell two floors below my hospital room, staring blankly at a steel table. His high-powered defense attorneys had managed to secure a temporary release pending trial, but the damage to his reputation was absolute. Vance Global’s stock plummeted by eighteen percent before the opening bell on Wall Street the next morning.

My private attorney—hired secretly through my family’s old private equity connections weeks before the attack, when I first suspected Flynn’s infidelity—stepped into my hospital room with a thick leather briefcase.

"Good morning, Mabel," Arthur Sterling said, flashing a reassuring smile. He was a veteran bulldog lawyer who didn't care about corporate hierarchies. "The district attorney is ready to press felony charges of attempted murder, aggravated domestic battery, and reckless endangerment resulting in fetal demise against Flynn. As for Selina, she’s facing conspiracy charges."

"I don't want a quick settlement, Arthur," I said, sitting up slightly against the pillows, ignoring the pull of my stitches. "I want a public trial. I want every single asset Flynn owns frozen before he can hide them in offshore accounts."

Arthur’s eyes gleamed with professional respect. "It's already in motion. We filed emergency asset-freeze injunctions an hour ago. Every bank account, real estate holding, and corporate share tied to Flynn’s name is locked under marital property statutes."

Just then, the door pushed open again.

It wasn't Flynn. It was his mother, Eleanor Vance.

The matriarch of the Vance family looked older, her usually immaculate hair disheveled, her face pale with humiliation. She rushed to the side of my bed, dropping her designer handbag to the floor.

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"Mabel, my God," Eleanor choked out, reaching for my hand. I pulled it away instantly. "I just heard... I flew in from London as soon as I saw the news. My son is a fool, an absolute monster, but please... think of the family name. If you drag this through an open court—"

"Your son tried to kill me, Eleanor," I interrupted, my voice cutting through her plea like glass. "He murdered my twins. There is no family name left to save."

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