Part 2: My husband casually told his friends that my absence wouldn't matter to his life, completely unaware that I was holding the multi-million-dollar acquisition contracts he left at home.

The morning after the gala, the snow fell thick and heavy over Lake Forest, burying the roads under six inches of white powder.

Inside the Moretti estate, I stood in the glass conservatory, sipping warm milk. My nerves were frayed raw after seeing Elias at the Drake. The raw desperation in his eyes had shaken me. I had expected his anger; I had prepared for his vindictiveness. I had not prepared for the broken boy looking back at me from behind the billionaire’s mask.

"Clara."

Julian walked into the conservatory quickly, his coat already on. His expression was taut, stripped of his usual mocking calm.

"What's wrong?" I asked, setting the mug down.

"We have a security breach," Julian said grimly. "Two unmarked SUVs just bypassed the outer gate sensor. They didn't blow the gates; they had the override code."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Elias?"

"No," Julian said, drawing his weapon from beneath his coat. "Elias would come with lawyers and police. This isn't Elias. Marcus Vance, Elias’s former partner—he was ousted from the board yesterday after the Meridian collapse. He knows you have the physical bearer certificates and the acquisition documents. He’s liquidating everything he can touch before the SEC freezes the firm's assets."

The sound of shattering glass echoed from the west wing.

Gunfire erupted—sharp, concussive cracks that vibrated through the conservatory walls.

"Julian!" I screamed, dropping to the floor instinctively, my hands shielding my belly.

"Stay down!" Julian yelled, pulling me behind a heavy brick planter. He spoke into his radio with rapid-fire commands: "All units, interior sweep, sectors three and four. Kill orders authorized."

Footsteps pounded across the hardwood floor outside the conservatory. Two men in tactical gear burst through the French doors, assault rifles raised. Julian fired twice without hesitation; the first man collapsed instantly, while the second dove behind a stone pillar, spraying bullets into the glass ceiling.

Shards of glass rained down around us like frozen daggers.

"The back tunnel," Julian hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. "Go through the wine cellar, Clara! There’s an armored transport in the garage!"

"I’m not leaving you!"

"Go! Protect the child!" he shouted, shoving me toward the service corridor as another volley of bullets chipped away the brick above his head.

I ran.

Adrenaline surged through my veins, pushing through the nausea and terror. I clutched my coat tightly around my stomach, racing down the stone stairs into the cellar. The scent of damp earth and aged oak enveloped me. But as I reached the steel door leading to the subterranean garage, the door was kicked open from the other side.

Standing in the doorway, a smoking pistol in his hand, was Marcus Vance.

His suit was disheveled, his eyes bloodshot with manic desperation. "Well, well. The runaway bride."

"Marcus," I breathed, backing away slowly, my heels clicking on the damp stone floor.

"You ruined us, Clara," Marcus hissed, raising the gun level with my chest. "Elias went insane because of you. He fired half the executive floor. He canceled our stock options. The Meridian deal was worth forty million to me personally. Give me the folder. Give me the bearer bonds, or I swear to God you won't leave this cellar alive."

"I don't have them here," I lied, my voice trembling, my eyes darting toward the shadows behind him.

"Then you’re useless," Marcus sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger.

A deafening crack echoed through the cellar.

A bullet ripped through Marcus’s shoulder from behind, throwing him against the stone wall. He screamed, dropping his weapon as he collapsed into the dust.