A six-year-old boy carrying a baby interrupted my high-society wedding and called me "Daddy," completely unaware my bride was behind the plot to kill his mother.

"Get out," Adrien said, his voice flat, dead, and lethal.

He didn't raise the firearm, but he kept his arm down at his side, the barrel angled toward the polished floor, perfectly visible.

The scarred guard’s eyes narrowed instantly, his hand twitching toward the lapel of his tailored jacket.

"Stand down, Briggs!" Isabelle snapped, her voice trembling with hysteria. She stepped past the guard, entering the living room. "Adrien, please. Put that away. Look at me. We need to talk."

Leo let out a tiny shriek from the sofa, scrambling backward and pulling the baby blanket over his face. "That's him! Daddy, that's him! That's the snake man!"

The words hit the room like an atmospheric drop before a tornado.

Adrien’s arm moved before his conscious mind caught up. The Glock snapped up, locked, and leveled straight at Briggs’ forehead. The click of the safety disengaging sounded like a gunshot in the cavernous room.

"Move a single muscle," Adrien whispered, his eyes blazing, "and I will paint this elevator with you."

Briggs froze, his hands slowly rising to shoulder height, a sinister, mocking smirk playing on his lips. "Mr. Vance. You're making a catastrophic mistake."

"Adrien, stop! Please!" Isabelle cried, stepping between the gun and Briggs, her hands outstretched. "Leo is confused! He's a traumatized child! Briggs has been my family’s head of security for ten years! He was at the cathedral with us!"

"He wasn't at the church," Adrien said, his gaze never wavering from the guard. "I know your father’s detail. Briggs wasn't there. He was upstate, wasn't he? Doing Richard’s dirty work."

"Adrien, listen to me!" Isabelle pleaded, tears streaming freely down her face now, melting the expensive bridal makeup into grotesque streaks. "You don't understand the danger you’re in. Clara Evans is a criminal. She was an industrial spy! Seven years ago, she stole proprietary biochemical patents from my father’s pharmaceutical wing! She faked her death to avoid federal indictment!"

"Is that why she’s been living in a shack in the woods with my children?" Adrien roared, his voice bouncing off the glass walls. "My children, Isabelle! Look at him! Look at Leo!"

Isabelle flinched as if struck. She cast a sideways, venomous glance at the boy shivering on the couch, and for a split second, the mask slipped. The delicate, compassionate socialite vanished, replaced by an expression of bitter, burning resentment.

"You don't know they’re yours," Isabelle hissed under her breath. "She was a whore, Adrien. She slept around the entire department. She probably got pregnant by some drifter and slapped your name on the birth certificate to get a payday when her money ran out!"

*Smack.*

The sound echoed through the room. Adrien hadn't struck her—it was the flat of his palm slamming down onto the heavy wooden sideboard next to him, the force shaking the crystal decanters.

"Get out of my house," Adrien said, his voice dropping to a horrifying, icy register. "Both of you. If you or your father come near these children again, I won't call the police. I will dismantle the Montgomery empire brick by bloody brick."

Briggs took a slow, measured step backward into the elevator cab. "Miss Montgomery. We should leave. Mr. Vance is clearly emotionally compromised."

Isabelle stared at Adrien. Her chest rose and fell in jagged heaves. "You throw this away? You throw us away for a ghost and two street urchins? My father will ruin you, Adrien. You won't have an architecture firm by Monday morning. You won't have a single contract left in North America."

"I survived Clara’s death," Adrien said, staring into her eyes with cold disgust. "I will survive your father. Leave."

With a ragged sob of fury, Isabelle spun on her heels and stepped back into the elevator. The doors slid closed, severing the tension like a guillotine.

Adrien stood frozen for five long seconds until the digital floor indicator showed the elevator had descended to the ground level. Only then did he engage the deadbolts, lower the gun, and click the safety back into place.

His hands were shaking violently.

He turned back to the sofa. Leo had lowered the blanket, his eyes enormous, clutching baby Maya against his chest.

"Is the bad man gone?" Leo asked, his voice barely audible.

"He's gone, Leo," Adrien said softly, rushing over and dropping to his knees beside them. He pulled both of them into his arms, wrapping his wide shoulders around their trembling bodies. "He’s never coming back. I swear to you."

As Adrien held them, his hand brushed against the baby’s diaper bag—a worn canvas backpack Leo had dropped on the floor earlier.

Inside the side mesh pocket, something was vibrating.

A low, rhythmic hum.

Adrien pulled the object out. It was a cheap, prepaid flip phone. The screen was cracked, glowing in the dim light with an incoming call from an unknown number.

Adrien flipped it open, pressed it to his ear, and spoke with bated breath:

"Hello?"

For three seconds, there was only the sound of ragged, wet breathing and the distant roar of a car engine.

Then, a weak, raspy, beloved voice broke through the speaker: