Chandelier crashing down—he dove to save his first love's son, letting it hurtle toward our daughter. I shielded her desperately. She touched my face: "Mommy, let's leave daddy behind."

Dylan picked up the document, his face wearing a smug, arrogant smirk.

"What's this? A list of your demands? A fake divorce paper from your little discount lawyer to scare me?" He flipped to the first page, his eyes scanning the bold black lettering at the top.

His smirk began to fade.

IN THE CIRCUIT COURT OF THE FIRST JUDICIAL DISTRICT ELENA VANCE-STERLING, PETITIONER VS. DYLAN ALEXANDER STERLING, RESPONDENT

"Divorce?" Dylan let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "Are you out of your mind? You're divorcing me because I saved a frightened child? Elena, do you know what happens if you leave me? You don't have a job! You don't have a degree that's been used in a decade! You'll get basic child support, and that's it!"

"Read page four, Dylan," I said, leaning back against my pillows, ignoring the fire in my ribs.

Dylan scoffed, aggressively flipping the pages. "Page four... asset division... wait, what is Vance Capital Trust? What is this licensing list?"

As his eyes moved down the detailed schedule of assets, the color slowly drained from his face.

Every patent registered to Sterling Enterprises—listed as property of Vance Tech Holdings. The master credit facility of $120 million—issued by Vance Global Private Equity. The corporate headquarters building on Fifth Avenue—deed held by Vance Real Estate Trust. The main villa where we lived—purchased entirely by the Marcus Vance Legacy Trust prior to our marriage.

"This... this is a mistake," Dylan stammered, his fingers beginning to tremble against the paper. "My investors... Arthur Pendelton is the senior partner at Vance Capital! Why is his name on this?!"

"Because Arthur Pendelton works for me, Dylan," I said, my voice smooth as silk and cold as grave dirt. "He has worked for my family since before you knew how to write code."

Dylan swallowed hard, a drop of cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Your... your family? Your father was a high school teacher in Ohio! You told me—"

"I told you my father was named Marcus," I interrupted smoothly. "You were the one who assumed he was a nobody because he dressed simply. You were the one whose ego was so fragile that I spent ten years pretending to be less than I was just so you could feel like a king."

Dylan’s jaw dropped. He looked at the paper, then at me, his eyes wide with a terrifying, creeping panic.

"Elena... no... you wouldn't," he whispered, stepping closer to my bed. "We're a family! We have Haley! You can't just destroy my company over a misunderstanding!"

"A misunderstanding?" I turned my head to look at Haley, who was watching her father with silent, unblinking detachment. "You left your daughter under falling glass, Dylan. You left her suffocating on a marble floor while you held another woman's child. You proved to me that everything I built for you was built for a man who doesn't exist."

Before Dylan could speak, his phone exploded with a loud, shrill ring.

He snatched it out of his pocket, his hands shaking so violently he almost dropped it. "Hello?!"

"Dylan! Where the hell are you?!" the panicked voice of his Chief Financial Officer screamed through the phone speaker, loud enough for the entire room to hear. "Bank of America just froze our primary operational accounts! Vance Capital just filed a notice of default on our sixty-million-dollar credit line! The board is calling an emergency meeting in twenty minutes!"

Dylan’s face turned from pale to ghostly white. "What?! Tell them it's a mistake! Tell them—"

"It's not a mistake!" the CFO yelled back. "They served us with an eviction notice for the headquarters building! Security guards are outside right now locking the executive elevators! Dylan, what did you do?!"

Dylan stared at me, his phone slipping an inch in his grip. The arrogant, powerful titan of tech was gone, replaced by a terrified boy watching his castle made of sand get swallowed by the tide.

"Elena... please," Dylan choked out, his voice cracking. "Call them off. We can talk about Sierra. I'll tell her to leave! I'll cut off contact with her! Just don't destroy Sterling Enterprises!"

"You destroyed it yourself the second you walked into that ambulance, Dylan," I said softly.

The door opened, and two uniformed hospital security guards stepped into the room.

"Mr. Sterling," the head guard said firmly. "Mrs. Sterling has requested that you leave the premises immediately. Please step outside."

"Elena!" Dylan screamed as the guards took him by the arms, pushing him toward the doorway. "Elena, look at me! You can't do this to me! I'm your husband!"

"Not anymore," I said.

The heavy door clicked shut, cutting off his frantic screams.

Haley reached up, taking off her oxygen mask for a moment. She looked at the shut door, then turned to me, a small, genuine smile appearing on her pale lips for the first time in twenty-four hours.