At my birthday party, my husband tied me to a ceiling beam and whipped me thirty times because I had stained his mistress’s dress. “Maybe now you’ll learn your place,” he laughed while everyone watched. I didn’t cry. When they finally cut me down, I picked up my phone and called my five gangster brothers. “Make his entire family beg for mercy,” I whispered. Then the front gates suddenly slammed shut.

An hour later, Wendy drove her remaining luxury sedan to the glass skyscraper of Sterling Enterprises downtown.

She ignored the confused looks of the security guards in the lobby and pushed her way into the private elevator, pressing the button for the penthouse floor.

When the elevator doors slid open, she marched past the reception desk and slammed open the double wooden doors of my private office.

I was sitting at my large mahogany desk, reviewing architectural blueprints for a new women's shelter my family was funding. Noah stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, while Julian sat in a leather armchair.

Wendy stood in the doorway, her hair unkempt, her makeup smudged, looking twenty years older than she had two nights ago.

“Flora!” Wendy yelled, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and desperation. “Look at me! Look at what you’ve done to my family!”

I slowly set my pen down and looked at her.

“You have destroyed my husband’s health!” Wendy wept, stepping into the room. “Arthur had a mild heart attack this morning! Isaac is hiding in a motel room like a dog! Is this what you wanted? To ruin us completely?”

Noah stepped forward, his massive frame casting a long shadow over her. “Step back, Wendy.”

Wendy looked at Noah, shuddering, but turned back to me, sinking onto her knees right on the carpet. The proud, arrogant matriarch who had spent four years belittling my existence was now kneeling before me.

“Please, Flora...” Wendy sobbed, pressing her palms together in supplication. “I’m begging you. As a woman. As Isaac’s mother. Spare my son. Put him in rehab, send him out of the country, do whatever you want—just drop the criminal charges! Don't send him to prison!”

I stood up from my desk and walked over to where she knelt.

“Do you remember what you said to me while I was tied to that beam, Wendy?” I asked softly, looking down at her.

Wendy swallowed hard, her eyes filled with terror.

“You said I came from nothing,” I reminded her, my voice dropping into absolute steel. “You said I should be grateful your family allowed me to eat at your table. You watched your son strike me thirty times, and you drank champagne.”

“I was wrong!” Wendy cried, tears washing away her powder. “I was blind!”