The day I saw the woman I had buried five months earlier standing alive behind a baby store window, I was walking toward a wedding planning meeting with another woman holding my arm. In three weeks, I was supposed to marry Monica Langford, the kind of woman my family considered perfect for a man named Grant Holloway. Then I looked through the glass and saw Jolene Tab, the woman whose death certificate I had held in my own hands. She was alive, visibly pregnant, and buying things for a baby I suddenly knew had to be mine.

"Really, Grant?" Desmond’s voice echoed smoothly through the small cottage, calm and measured, as if he were addressing a board meeting rather than holding a loaded gun in a private home. "Tracking down ghosts in the middle of the night? I expected better operational security from my primary successor."

I stepped out from the hallway shadow, keeping my Sig Sauer raised and locked firmly on the center of his chest. The two tactical guards flanking him instantly shifted their weight, their submachine guns tracking toward my torso, but a single subtle raise of Desmond’s hand kept them from firing.

"Drop the act, Desmond," I snarled, my finger tightening slightly on the trigger. "The game is over. I know about the fake hospital records, I know about the payoff threats, and I know that Jolene is standing right behind this door carrying my child."

Desmond didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He leaned slightly on his gold-headed cane, letting out a soft, disappointed sigh that cut deeper than any shout.

"My dear boy," Desmond said, taking a slow step forward despite the barrel pointed at his heart. "You are looking at a microscopic piece of a much larger puzzle. You think this was about cruelty? You think I enjoyed tearing apart your little romance?"

"You threatened her family! You lied to my face for five months!"

"I protected the Holloway legacy," Desmond corrected sharply, his voice suddenly sharpening with steel. "Do you have any idea what would happen to the conglomerate if the media found out the sole heir to our multi-billion-dollar empire was tying himself to a woman whose family is drowning in debt and public scandal? The stock would plummet. Competitors would tear us apart. Decades of work, blood, and sacrifice would vanish overnight—all for a fleeting undergraduate romance."

"She is not a scandal, Desmond. She is my life," I spat back.

"And the child?" Desmond’s eyes flicked briefly toward the pantry door where Jolene was hiding. A cold, calculating smile touched the corners of his mouth. "An unfortunate complication. But thankfully, easily managed. Just like her mother was supposed to be."

That was the line. The exact boundary where familial obligation ended and pure, unadulterated evil began.

Before Desmond could signal his guards, I moved with lightning speed. Instead of shooting Desmond—knowing his men would riddle me with bullets before my finger could squeeze fully—I lunged sideways, kicking the kitchen wall-switch and plunging the entire house into absolute darkness.

Pop-pop-pop!

Suppressor-equipped rifle fire chewed through the kitchen drywall, wood splinters exploding into the air as I hit the floor, rolling hard toward the pantry door.

"Grant!" Jolene screamed from inside.

"Grab my hand!" I yelled back, kicking the pantry door completely off its hinges. I grabbed her by the wrist, hauling her out of the small enclosure just as a burst of tactical fire shredded the wooden shelves where she had been standing seconds earlier.

"Flashbangs! Clear the rooms!" I heard one of the guards shout over the ringing in our ears.

"This way!" I pulled Jolene toward a small laundry room window leading out to the rear vegetable garden. Using the butt of my pistol, I shattered the glass in one decisive blow, clearing the jagged shards with a swift swipe of my elbow.