“If She Loses That Baby, None of You Walk Away,” the Mafia Boss Warned—Then He Turned on His Own Dynasty Clare Whitmore did not fall.

Nathaniel walked back down the grand staircase, leaving Clare in the room.

His father, mother, and Victoria were waiting in the drawing room, looking like a tribunal ready to pass sentence.

"Well?" Douglas asked, pouring himself a scotch. "Have you come to your senses?"

Nathaniel forced his face into a mask of utter defeat. He looked at the floor, letting his shoulders slump.

"You win," Nathaniel said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "I'll marry Victoria."

Victoria smiled, a triumphant, brilliant flash of teeth. She walked over and looped her arm through his. "I knew you'd see reason, darling."

"And the Whitmore woman?" Eleanor pressed.

"She agreed to your terms," Nathaniel lied smoothly. "She'll stay here tonight. Tomorrow, after the engagement announcement, she'll sign the papers and take the payout."

Douglas nodded approvingly. "Good. You’ve finally started acting like an Ashcroft. The press conference is at noon tomorrow."

That night, Nathaniel lay in his childhood bedroom, staring at the ceiling. He waited until the house was completely silent. At 3:00 AM, he slipped out of bed, grabbed his encrypted laptop, and crept down the hall to his father’s private study.

He knew the security codes. He had designed the system.

He bypassed the alarm, accessed the hidden server, and began downloading decades of Ashcroft Holdings' illegal offshore transactions. Bribes, money laundering, tax evasion. It was all there.

The download bar crept painfully slow. 70%... 80%...

Suddenly, the floorboards outside the study creaked.

Nathaniel held his breath, his hand hovering over the keyboard.

The door handle turned slowly.