THE FRACTURED PATRIARCH

Ten minutes later, the grand foyer was empty, but the tension inside Ravencrest Estate had condensed into a thick, toxic fog.

In the second-floor master study—a massive room lined with thousands of leather-bound books, floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the stormy estate grounds, and a heavy mahogany desk—Julian stood by the cold fireplace. He held little Leo against his chest, rocking the baby with a surprisingly gentle rhythm while Martha sat in a plush leather armchair, holding a ice pack against her swollen face.

The heavy double doors of the study creaked open.

Victoria walked in. She had tried to repair her appearance: her hair was brushed, her face powdered to hide her tears, but her hands were shaking so badly she had to lock them behind her back.

"Julian," she began, keeping her distance near the leather sofa. "We need to speak rationally. If the staff sees you treating me like a criminal—"

"The staff is already gone," Julian interrupted quietly, not turning around. "I sent every butler, footman, and chef off the grounds for forty-eight hours. Except Martha."

Victoria’s breath caught in her throat. "Why?"

Julian turned around slowly. The golden firelight reflected off his dark eyes, making him look like an ancient, vengeful god.

"Because in thirty minutes, my legal team will arrive with an annulment decree based on physical abuse and endangerment of a minor," Julian said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. "You will sign it. You will relinquish every claim to the Vance-Sterling trust, every piece of real estate, and every share of stock."

Victoria let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. "Are you insane? You can't strip me of my rights based on the word of a bruised old maid! No judge in this state will grant an immediate annulment without a full investigation!"