The silence in the attic was heavy enough to crush the breath from Malcolm’s lungs. He stared at the little girl cowering behind his daughter. Evie couldn’t have been older than Maisie, but her eyes held the hollow, hyper-vigilant look of someone who had already lived a hundred lifetimes in the shadows. Her clothes were oversized, stained with dirt, and her little hands gripped the edge of a faded plaid blanket as if it were a shield against a hostile world.

Malcolm drove back to Riverside Heights in a state of icy, absolute clarity. The pain of the past was a luxury he could no longer afford. He had to protect Maisie, he had to protect Sarah’s memory, and surprisingly, he realized he had to protect Evie. The little girl was an innocent pawn in a twisted game of vengeance orchestrated by his own brother.

When he arrived back at the mansion, the situation had escalated.

Three black SUVs were parked haphazardly in his circular driveway. Men in dark suits stood by the entrance. Malcolm's security team was locked in a tense standoff with them.

As Malcolm stepped out of his car, a tall, elegantly dressed woman with sharp, feline features stepped out from the lead SUV. It was Victoria Vance—Sarah's estranged, iron-willed mother, a matriarch of old money who had never forgiven Malcolm for marrying her daughter and taking her away from the high-society circles of New York.

"Malcolm," Victoria said, her voice dripping with calculated venom. "Imagine my surprise when I received an anonymous tip this morning informing me that my late daughter's secret child was being held captive in your attic."

Malcolm realized instantly—Julian hadn't acted alone. Even from prison, he had a network, or he had cut a deal with Victoria before his arrest.

"Victoria," Malcolm said, stepping between her and his front door. "This is private property. Get off my land."

"Private property won't protect you from a child trafficking scandal, Malcolm," Victoria sneered, flashing a legal document. "This is an emergency temporary custody order. I have the state child welfare services en route. As the maternal grandmother of Evelyn Vance, I am claiming custody. I won't let my granddaughter be raised by the man who neglected my daughter until she died."

The front door opened, and Mrs. Henderson stepped out, holding Maisie and Evie close to her skirts. Evie saw the men in suits and let out a terrified shriek, hiding behind Mrs. Henderson.

"Evie!" Victoria called out, her face twisting into a false, sickeningly sweet smile. "Come to Grandmother, darling. I'm going to take you away from this awful place."

"No!" Maisie shouted, stepping forward bravely, her tiny fists clenched. "She's my sister! You can't take her!"

"She isn't your sister, child," Victoria said coldly. "She is a mistake that needs to be corrected."

The words struck Malcolm like a lightning bolt. A mistake. That was exactly how these people viewed children—as assets, liabilities, or mistakes. He looked at Evie, who was trembling so violently she could barely stand, and then at Maisie, who was ready to fight the world to protect her new friend.

In that moment, the corporate billionaire died, and a father was truly born.

"Victoria," Malcolm said, his voice dropping to a frequency that made the security guards shift uncomfortably. "If you or your men take one more step toward my daughters, I will unleash a legal and financial war that will bankrupt the Vance estate before the sun sets today. You think you have a tip? I have a DNA profile, a recorded confession of fraud and child endangerment by Julian, and a paper trail linking your offshore accounts to his legal defense fund."

It was a bluff—he hadn't traced the accounts yet—but Malcolm was a master of the high-stakes gamble.

Victoria paused, her eyes narrowing. "You're bluffing."