My sister hijacked my wedding reception to announce her pregnancy on a giant screen, completely unaware I was about to play the footage of her affair.

The rain in Chicago was relentless when our private charter touched down twenty-four hours later.

We didn't go home. We drove straight from the airport to the Cook County courthouse, where Marcus Vance had arranged for us to meet Thomas in a private conference room on the fourth floor.

When the door opened, I barely recognized Thomas.

He had lost weight in just four days. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunken and surrounded by dark bruises of exhaustion. But the trembling weakness he had shown on the dance floor was gone, replaced by a cold, austere clarity.

"Leah," he said, standing up and wrapping his arms around me in a brief, tight hug. "Thank you for cutting your trip short."

"We couldn't leave you to deal with this alone," I said, sitting across from him at the heavy mahogany conference table.

Marcus Vance laid three thick manila folders in front of us.

"The arrest went down two hours ago," Marcus said, opening the first folder.

He slid an 8x10 glossy photograph across the table. It was a mugshot.

Blaire looked grotesque. Her hair was tangled and matted, her face puffy and splotched from sobbing, her designer sweater stripped away and replaced by a standard county-issued navy jumpsuit. The arrogance, the pristine beauty, the untouchable shield my parents had built around her since childhood—it had all collapsed into the harsh, unforgiving flash of a police processing camera.

"She resisted arrest," Marcus noted dryly. "She locked herself in the master bathroom at your parents' house. Evelyn tried to strike the arresting deputy with a decorative brass umbrella stand. Evelyn was cited for obstruction of justice and disorderly conduct. She's currently out on bail."

I buried my face in my hands for a second, rubbing my temples. My family had descended into complete, unadulterated madness.

"What about the social media video?" Owen asked.

"Taken down an hour ago under court order," Marcus said. "TikTok and Meta received federal preservation subpoenas. Every single influencer who reposted her claims with defamatory statements toward Leah and the AV vendor has been served with cease-and-desist notices. Two of them have already posted full video retractions apologizing to avoid being named as co-defendants in a multi-million-dollar defamation suit."

"And the baby?" I asked, looking up at Thomas.

Thomas clenched his fists against the table, his knuckles turning stark white.

"She agreed to the non-invasive prenatal paternity test," Thomas said, his voice dropping into a hollow, dead tone. "She didn't have a choice. The judge made it a condition of her bail. The blood draw was done at the county medical center this morning."

"When do we get the results?"

"Expedited lab processing," Marcus replied. "We’ll have the genetic profile by midnight tonight."

Thomas leaned back in his leather chair, staring up at the fluorescent lights. "You know what the worst part is, Leah?"

"What?"

"She looked me right in the eye when the deputies were leading her out in handcuffs," Thomas whispered. "She was crying, screaming my name, telling me that she did all of it for *us*. She said she took the money from the firm because Julian convinced her that I was going to fail. She said she was trying to build a 'secret safety net' for our future family."

"She’s a sociopath, Thomas," Owen said bluntly. "She builds whatever narrative keeps her from facing the mirror."

"I know," Thomas murmured. "But for five years, I lived in that narrative. I believed her when she told me I wasn't affectionate enough. I believed her when she said her mood swings were because she felt unsupported. I spent five years apologizing for crimes I never committed, just to keep peace in a house that was built on a sewer."

I reached across the table and placed my hand over his. "You're out now, Thomas. The cost was horrifying, but you're out."

Before Thomas could reply, the door to the conference room swung open with a sharp click.

A young associate from Marcus’s firm entered, holding a sealed, tamper-evident courier envelope stamped with the logo of the Midwest Genetic Diagnostics Center.

The room fell dead silent.