Part 2: My billionaire father-in-law paid me $12 million to walk away from his son for carrying triplet boys with his mistress, unaware that I was pregnant with quadruplets.

“Uncle Arthur, you called for the emergency board proxy—?” Donald began, his words dying in his throat as he noticed the suffocating tension in the room.

Vanessa let out a wretched cry and collapsed completely onto the floor, curling into a ball of white satin.

Julian didn't hesitate. He crossed the room in three predatory strides. Before Donald could react, Julian’s fist slammed into Donald’s jaw with the force of a freight train. Donald crashed into the antique display cabinet, shattering the glass and sending centuries-old porcelain splintering across the floor.

“Julian! Stop!” Arthur bellowed, though he didn't move an inch to intervene.

Julian grabbed Donald by the collar of his bespoke suit, lifting him off the floor and slamming him against the wall. “My assistant? My wedding? My family? You took my wife from me! You manipulated the board into pushing me out for three bastards you fathered behind my back!”

“Julian... Julian, listen to me—” Donald sputtered, blood leaking from his split lip, his eyes rolling back in terror.

“You staged the entire pregnancy!” Julian roared, throwing Donald to the ground and kicking his briefcase away. “You knew my father would force me to marry whoever gave him male heirs first! You fed Vanessa into my office, you orchestrated the late nights, you set the trap!”

“It was business!” Donald coughed out, clutching his bruised ribs, dropping his facade of loyalty entirely. “Uncle Arthur was never going to give me a piece of the shipping line! Everything was for you! Perfect Julian! The golden son! I just leveled the playing field!”

“You leveled nothing,” Arthur’s voice boomed across the study.

The old man walked over to where his nephew lay bleeding on the floor. Arthur looked down with a disgust so potent it made Donald shrink.

“As of this second,” Arthur said, his voice terrifyingly calm, “Donald Whitmore is stripped of all corporate titles. The Whitmore legal trust will initiate a full forensic audit into every transaction you have signed over the past five years. If you have misappropriated a single penny, you will spend the next thirty years in a federal penitentiary.”

Arthur turned his gaze toward Vanessa, who was weeping into the Persian rug.

“And you,” Arthur whispered. “You have two hours to pack your clothes. You will receive no alimony. No child support from Julian. No trust fund. The security detail will escort you and your three children to an extended-stay motel by noon. If you ever speak Julian’s name, Evelyn’s name, or set foot near this family again, I will release the unredacted paternity and fraud files to the press.”