My father-in-law burned my six-month pregnant belly with his cigarette while my husband held my wrists—and his mother and sister sat at my New Year’s table watching. Then Grant ordered me out of “his house.” What none of them remembered was that the penthouse, the dinner, and almost every luxury they enjoyed had been paid for by me.

My hands were trembling, but as I reached for my phone on the counter, my mind was terrifyingly clear.

Brooke jumped up from her chair, her eyes wide. "What are you doing?"

"Collecting evidence," I said.

I snapped a photo of the angry red burn blistering through the hole in my sweater. Then, I pointed the camera at Grant, who was still holding the smoldering cigarette, and finally at Ryan, whose face was draining of its arrogant color.

Grant let out a harsh, barking laugh. "Put the phone down, Claire. You're being hysterical. You brought this on yourself."

Ryan took a slow step toward me, his hands raised in a placating gesture that made me want to vomit. "Claire, sweetheart. Just calm down. Let’s talk about this."

"You hurt a pregnant woman," my voice rang out, steady and lethal. "My husband held me down. And the rest of you just watched."

Grant sneered, pointing a thick finger toward the heavy oak front door. "Get out of my house."

I stared at him. I literally stared at the man whose credit card debts I had quietly paid off last spring. For a brief second, I almost smiled. This penthouse sat forty floors above downtown Denver. I had bought it with my own stock options years before Ryan even knew my name. The deed had one name on it: Claire Bennett.

"You want me out?" I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper.

"Right now," Grant demanded.

I gripped the edge of the silk embroidered runner that stretched across the center of our elaborate New Year's dining table.

"Then enjoy your last dinner here."

With one violent, sweeping motion, I pulled.

The sound of shattering crystal was deafening. Plates, bowls, and silverware crashed to the hardwood floor. Red wine splashed across Diane's designer dress like blood. Brooke shrieked, scrambling backward, while Grant stumbled over his own chair to avoid the cascading avalanche of food and glass.

Ryan stared at the wreckage, his jaw unhinged. "You've lost your damn mind!"