Part 2: The sound of rushing water echoed through the luxurious mansion as the pregnant woman fell into the indoor pool. Without a second thought, the man jumped in after her and reached for her.

The penthouse of the St. Regis Hotel buzzed with soft jazz, clinking champagne flutes, and the quiet murmurs of high society. Evelyn Sterling—still legally Evelyn Vance—stood near the grand piano, wearing an exquisite white silk evening gown that made her look like an angel of purity.

Beside her stood Marcus Sterling, silver-haired, impeccably tailored, holding a glass of Scotch.

"You were sloppy, Evelyn," Sterling muttered through a tight smile, keeping his voice pleasant for the surrounding guests. "The private channel confirmed Clara survived. The pool drainage triggered an alert."

Evelyn took a slow sip of her champagne, her red lips curving upward. "Relax, Marcus. The poison in her system was enough to compromise her immune system. Even if she survived the water, stress alone will force premature labor within forty-eight hours. At twenty-four weeks, those twins won't survive."

"Julian is not a fool," Marcus warned. "He’s pulled his private security team into that hospital floor. We are running out of time."

"Then we accelerate the final phase," Evelyn whispered, leaning in closer. "I’ve already planted someone on the inside. Clara won't leave that hospital alive, and Julian will be too broken to attend the board meeting tomorrow."

Suddenly, the elevator doors at the end of the grand foyer chimed.

The chatter in the ballroom abruptly died down.

Julian Vance walked in.

He didn't wear a tuxedo. He wore his tailored black coat, his face set in stone, his boots echoing with heavy authority against the marble floor. Behind him walked four towering security guards dressed in dark tactical suits.

Guests parted like the Red Sea. Evelyn’s champagne glass trembled slightly in her grip, though she quickly recovered her poise and greeted him with a venomous smirk.

"Julian," she purred, stepping forward. "What an unexpected surprise. Shouldn't you be at Clara’s bedside, comforting her through her... unfortunate domestic accident?"

Julian stopped less than three feet from her. His presence was suffocating, towering over her with absolute, predatory intensity.

"You look stunning in white, Evelyn," Julian said, his voice smooth, chillingly calm. "It’s going to look magnificent against the orange jumpsuit the state gives you."

Marcus Sterling stepped in between them, his voice laced with patronizing arrogance. "Julian, this is a private event. If you have personal grievances, take them to court. Don't make a scene."

Julian didn't even look at Sterling. His eyes remained locked on Evelyn.

"I know whose daughter you are, Evelyn," Julian whispered.

The color drained from Evelyn’s face instantly. Her smirk vanished, replaced by an expression of raw panic.

Julian stepped closer, his voice dropping to a deadly growl. "Touch Clara again, look at my unborn children again, and I won't wait for the law. Enjoy your party, Evelyn. It's the last one you’ll ever attend as a free woman."