Thirty-two weeks pregnant, I watched my husband walk into his family’s Christmas party with his mistress on his arm—and the $18,600 diamond necklace he’d secretly bought glittering around her neck.

The crowd parted as Thomas Dre, Matthias’s father and the patriarch of the family empire, strode toward us. He was a terrifyingly imposing man, holding a crystal tumbler of scotch, his expression dark and thunderous.

“Matthias,” Thomas barked, his voice commanding absolute silence in the room. “You are making a public spectacle.”

“Father, this woman stole confidential company documents,” Matthias pointed at Mara, desperate to regain control. “And Evelyn is having a hysterical episode.”

Thomas ignored his son. He turned his cold, calculating gaze upon me, looking at my pregnant belly before locking eyes with me.

“Evelyn, my dear,” Thomas said smoothly, his tone laced with a sinister, patronizing warmth. “Pregnancy hormones can make the mind invent terrible things. Let’s retire to my private study. We can sort out this little misunderstanding away from the guests.”

“There is no misunderstanding, Thomas,” I replied, gripping the property deed tightly. “Your son forged signatures to utilize land he does not own, intending to commit environmental terrorism. And I suspect you knew about it all along.”

Thomas’s smile did not reach his eyes. “You are family, Evelyn. We protect family. Do not force me to remind you how powerful this family truly is.”

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a direct, terrifying threat.

Two massive men in dark suits—the family’s private security detail—suddenly appeared on either side of Thomas. They took a synchronized step forward, effectively boxing Daniel, Mara, and me into the corner by the fireplace.

“You are going to walk quietly to the study, Evelyn,” Thomas ordered, his voice dropping into a lethal register. “And Dr. Ellison is going to hand over that portfolio.”