At My Daughter’s Birthday Party, My Husband Lashed Me 30 Times Over His Lover’s Ruined Dress—Five Minutes After I Called My Billionaire Brother... I did not scream when my husband tied my wrists to the iron wine rack beneath our Newport mansion and raised the riding crop for the thirtieth time.

Brooke was crawling backward across the cold metal grating, violently cradling her ruined wrist. Her eyes were wide with primal, animal terror, realizing she had walked directly into a trap she could never escape.

"Please," she gasped, tears streaming through the dirt on her face. "I was desperate, Evelyn. Please, I didn't mean it!"

"You were jealous," I corrected coldly.

"I’ll leave the country! I swear, I’ll disappear!"

"You tried to cut my child’s face," I stepped closer, my shadow falling over her.

Her lips trembled uncontrollably. "No, I didn’t mean to hurt her—"

I crouched down in front of her, ignoring her pathetic begging, and reached for the thick gold chain at her throat.

Hanging there was a beautiful white jade pendant, its bottom edge permanently blackened by old fire smoke.

My pendant.

The very one I had worn on the tragic night of Grant's car crash. The one Brooke had literally stolen from my unconscious body at the hospital, using it as proof to claim my heroic place in Grant’s distorted memory.

I gripped the chain and snapped it violently.

The pendant fell heavy into my palm. Brooke stared at it as if it had suddenly transformed into a venomous snake.

"You... you knew?" she whispered, all the blood draining from her face.

"I eventually remembered enough," I said quietly. "And my family found the rest."

Police sirens suddenly screamed in the distance, growing louder by the second.

My brother Reed walked into the warehouse, his expensive suit immaculate despite the chaos. A dozen NYPD detectives flanked him.

"Brooke Ellison," Reed said calmly, unfolding a thick legal document. "You are officially under arrest for conspiracy to commit arson, grand corporate embezzlement, money laundering, aggravated kidnapping, assault, and attempted extortion."

Brooke’s face completely collapsed. "No!" she sobbed, thrashing as the detectives grabbed her. "No, Grant! Grant will help me! Call Grant!"

Reed smiled without an ounce of warmth. "Grant is currently facing his own federal indictment."

As they dragged her out screaming into the flashing police lights, a battered black Bentley screeched to a chaotic halt in the gravel lot.

Grant stumbled out of the driver's seat. His shirt was muddy, his hair was wild, and his eyes were manic. He must have used a tracker in the cash suitcases to find her.

He froze instantly at the sheer scale of the scene. The heavily armed tactical operatives, the circling helicopters, Reed standing authoritatively beside me, and Maisie wrapped safely in a medic’s thermal blanket.

"Maisie," Grant whispered, taking one hesitant step forward.

Every single tactical rifle in the lot instantly raised and aimed at his chest.

He stopped dead. His wide eyes moved from the laser sights to the silver crest embroidered on the operatives’ tactical jackets. The unmistakable silver 'W' inside a black shield.