My ex left me and our triplets on the street with divorce papers—until his billionaire rival swooped in, paid for my hospital suite, and offered me 40% of his empire to destroy my ex's career.

Julian didn't flinch. He carefully transferred Noah into the nursery crib, pulled down his sleeves, and stood to his full, imposing height.

"Stay here with Mrs. Gable," Julian told me gently.

"No," I said, standing up beside him. "He didn't come to see you, Julian. He came to see me. It’s time I finish this."

Julian searched my face for a moment, saw the iron resolve in my eyes, and nodded once. "I'll be right behind you."

We took the elevator down to the ground floor.

Through the reinforced glass of the front entryway, I could see Ryan standing outside the wrought-iron gates on the tree-lined street. He looked unkempt, his eyes bloodshot, his suit jacket rumpled. Two private security guards stood between him and the steps, their arms crossed.

"Let him in the courtyard," I instructed the security team.

The heavy gate clicked open. Ryan stumbled inside, breathing heavily.

"Claire!" he gasped, lunging forward, but the two guards immediately stepped into his path, blocking him five feet away. "Claire, thank God. You have to listen to me."

I stood on the top step of the brownstone, Julian standing half a pace behind me, his hands resting casually in his pockets.

"You have two minutes, Ryan," I said, my voice deadpan.

Ryan looked up at me, his eyes wild with desperation. "Claire, Savannah left me. She took everything she could carry. She was using me the whole time! You were right about her. You were right about everything."

"Did you come here to tell me about your girlfriend’s lack of character?" I asked.

"No! I came to apologize!" Ryan pleaded, dropping to one knee on the flagstone courtyard—a pathetic imitation of Julian’s gesture a year ago, but born of fear rather than love. "I made a mistake, Claire. A terrible, stupid mistake. The stress of the business... it made me crazy. I didn't mean what I said in that conference room! I was scared of being a father to three babies at once. I panicked!"

"You panicked?" I repeated, stepping down one step. "You stole my Brooklyn apartment, Ryan. You had your lawyer draft an eviction notice while I was carrying your triplets. You claimed under oath that they weren't yours to dodge paying child support. That isn't panic. That is malice."

"I was desperate!" he cried. "The company was under water! But we can fix it! We can withdraw your bid, merge Thorne’s capital with Calloway Development, and raise our children together! I’m their father, Claire! Blood matters! You can't let another man raise my sons and daughter!"

Julian stepped down beside me.

"Blood means nothing when the heart is rotten, Calloway," Julian said, his voice slicing through Ryan’s hysteria like a surgical blade. "You forfeited your rights the day you signed an affidavit wishing them dead."

"Shut up!" Ryan screamed at Julian. "You stole my wife! You stole my company!"

"You gave them away," I countered, looking down at the broken man before me. "You thought I was worthless without you, Ryan. But the truth is, you were nothing without me. Calloway Development was a ghost ship steered by my mind. And on Thursday, the city council will put the final nail in your coffin."

"Claire, please!" Ryan sobbed, reaching out his hands. "If I lose this bid, the banks will take everything! The penthouse, the company, my car—I'll be ruined! My parents won't even take my calls! Don't do this to me!"

"You did this to yourself," I said quietly.

I turned back toward the front door.

"Get him off the property," Julian instructed the guards.

As the heavy wrought-iron gates closed behind Ryan’s screaming protests, I let out a long, slow breath. The ghost of my past had finally shown its true form: small, pathetic, and utterly powerless.

Julian took my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles.

"Are you ready for Thursday?" he asked softly.

I looked up into his gray eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand anchoring me to the present.