Eight months after the divorce, my phone buzzed with his name. “Come to my wedding,” he said, smug as ever. “She’s pregnant—unlike you.” I froze, fingers tightening around the hospital sheet.

as he opened the passenger door for me.

“The police are waiting at Julian’s offices to seize the digital servers,” Marcus replied, his expression deeply satisfied. “By tomorrow morning, the asset recovery will be fully underway. You won’t have to deal with them again.”

“Good,” I said.

I buckled my daughter securely into her car seat, settling into the continue reading …