The monitor beside my hospital bed hummed a steady, rhythmic beep. Every pulse felt like a war drum. For three days, the world thought Emily Parker was dead, frozen beneath twenty feet of powder in the unforgiving Aspen wilderness. According to the state of Colorado, certificate number 88421, I was legally deceased.

That was the terrifying part.

When Marcus and his team left the penthouse, Ethan and Brittany were left in a state of absolute, paralyzed psychological torture. No police sirens. No SWAT teams bursting through the door. Just a single ultimatum left on the coffee table: Return every single cent of the fifty million dollars to the corporate account within forty-eight hours, or face federal charges of attempted murder, conspiracy, and insurance fraud.

They were trapped in a golden cage of their own making.

Meanwhile, across the city in the secure penthouse of Cross National Insurance tower, I watched live security camera feeds of Ethan and Brittany's apartment on a wall-mounted digital display.

I sat in a high-backed leather armchair, wearing a simple black cashmere sweater that hid my medical wraps. My wrist was healing nicely in a lightweight removable brace, and though my ribs still ached when I took a deep breath, the internal bleeding had stopped entirely.

My baby—my little boy, whom the doctors had monitored hourly—was strong, healthy, and kicking fiercely against my stomach, completely unaware of the absolute war zone raging around us.

"They're panicking," Jonathan said, walking into the room holding two cups of hot chamomile tea. He handed one to me carefully. "They tried to call three different criminal defense attorneys. All of them turned down the retainer within five minutes. Word travels fast when Cross National freezes your assets."

I took a slow sip of the tea, letting the warmth settle in my chest. "They thought they were invincible. Ethan spent the last three years building his whole life on lies. He told everyone he was a self-made tech entrepreneur, but his startup went bankrupt eighteen months ago. That's why he needed the fifty million. He was drowning in gambling debts to Russian loan sharks in Las Vegas."

Jonathan narrowed his eyes, leaning against the edge of the mahogany desk. "And Brittany? What's her connection to the financial mess?"

"Brittany was the one who introduced Ethan to those lenders," I said, my voice dropping an octave into a cold, flat register. "She thought marrying Ethan after he cashed out would set her up for life as a billionaire socialite. They planned this together over six months. She even volunteered to host my baby shower just to slip a mild sedative into my herbal tea so I wouldn't have the strength to fight back when Ethan drove us into the mountains."

Jonathan’s fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. "If I had my way, I'd have them thrown into a maximum-security black site and throw away the key. No trial. No mercy."

"No," I said, looking up at him with a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Prisons are too easy. I want to watch them destroy each other first."

"What do you mean?"

"Ethan is a coward," I said softly, standing up from the armchair and walking over to the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the Denver skyline. "When pressure mounts, he turns on the people closest to him to save his own skin. Brittany thinks they're partners in crime. Let's test how loyal a gold-digger really is when the gold turns to ash."

Jonathan’s lips twitched into a dangerous smile. "What's your play, Emily?"

"Step one," I said, turning around to face him. "We freeze every single personal bank account, credit card, and asset they own—including Brittany's personal accounts. Let them wake up tomorrow morning and realize they can't even buy a cup of coffee."