It was just before five in the morning when Victor kicked open our bedroom door and ripped the blanket away from me.

Four weeks had passed since the morning that changed everything.

The physical bruises on my face and body had faded to faint yellowish marks, but the fire inside me was burning brighter than ever. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master dressing room of my uncle’s estate in the hills.

I was wearing a tailored ivory maternity suit, my dark hair styled in sleek, professional waves. My pregnancy bump was more prominent now, round and heavy at seven months, but I didn't look fragile. I looked formidable.

Chloe stepped into the room, holding a folder filled with financial reports. She looked at me and let out a soft breath.

“Look at you,” Chloe said, her eyes shining with pride. “You look like a CEO.”

“I am a Vance,” I said softly, staring at my reflection. “I spent two years trying to shrink myself so Victor wouldn't feel small. I let his mother belittle me, I let his sister treat me like a maid, and I let Victor treat me like his property. I thought humility was a virtue. But it wasn't humility, Chloe. It was fear.”

“Well, the Millers are the ones who are afraid now,” Chloe said, handing me the file. “Raul’s court-appointed assets were auctioned off yesterday to pay his creditors. Their family mansion is officially foreclosed. Helena tried to apply for emergency housing, but her application was flagged because of her pending felony charges.”

“And Nora?” I asked.

“Nora was expelled from her university’s law program,” Chloe replied with a satisfied smirk. “The dean saw the video. They said having a student who filmed the torture of a pregnant woman was a direct violation of their ethics policy. Her career is over before it even started.”

A knock came at the door, and Uncle Marcus walked in, accompanied by Julian Ross, the sharp-looking attorney in his sixties whose reputation made judges sit up straight.

“Maya,” Julian said, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you under better circumstances.”

“Thank you for taking my case, Mr. Ross,” I said, shaking his hand firmly.

“Taking your case was a privilege, my dear,” Julian said, opening his leather portfolio. “Today is the preliminary hearing for the criminal trial, as well as the formal presentation of your divorce decree. Victor has refused to sign the voluntary surrender of parental rights.”

I narrowed my eyes. “He thinks he can use our baby as leverage?”

“Precisely,” Julian nodded. “His public defender attempted to argue that Victor is entitled to joint custody once the child is born, claiming he wants to be an active father. He believes this will force you to negotiate a financial settlement with him.”

I felt a cold, calm resolve settle deep within my chest. The helpless woman who wept on the kitchen floor while being struck with a cane was dead. She had died the moment that glass shattered against the wall.

“He will never touch my child,” I said, my voice as hard as flint. “Not today. Not ever.”

“Then today we ensure that,” Marcus said, stepping beside me and placing a supportive hand on my shoulder. “The motorcade is ready downstairs. The courthouse is surrounded by press. Are you ready to face them, Maya?”

I looked at myself in the mirror one last time. I touched my stomach, feeling the soft, reassuring kick of my unborn baby girl against my palm.

“I’m ready,” I said.

Thirty minutes later, three black armored SUVs pulled up to the front entrance of the County Courthouse. Dozens of news reporters, photographers, and camera crews were lined up behind the police barricades, their flashes creating a blinding storm of light.

When the guard opened the door of the lead SUV, Marcus stepped out first. He turned and offered his arm to me.

I stepped out onto the granite steps of the courthouse. The crowd went wild, cameras flashing frantically, reporters shouting questions into the air:

“Ms. Vance! Is it true you’re seeking full sole custody?” “Ms. Vance! Do you have a comment on Victor Miller’s claims that he was mentally unfit?!” “Maya! How is the baby?!”

I didn't cower. I didn't hide my face behind sunglasses or a scarf. I stood tall, holding my head high, my hand resting gently on my pregnant belly as I walked past the media circus.

As we walked through the heavy double doors into the grand marble hallway of the courthouse, I saw him.

Victor was being led down the hallway in iron shackles, flanked by two armed guards. He was gaunt, his face pale, his eyes sunken and desperate. Behind him sat Helena and Raul, both dressed in drab orange jumpsuits, their hands cuffed at their waists.

When Victor saw me—dressed in my elegant suit, flanked by my billionaire uncle and the most powerful attorney in the state—his knees buckled. He stopped dead in his tracks.

“Maya...” Victor whimpered, his voice trembling as he looked at me. “Maya, please... look at me.”

I walked straight toward him, stopping just two feet away. The guards stayed back, knowing exactly who was in the room.

Victor looked up at me, tears streaming down his hollow cheeks. “Maya, I’m sorry. I swear I’m sorry! It was my parents! They pressured me! I love you! I love our baby! Please, don’t do this to me! Give me another chance!”

I looked down at the man I had once thought was my protector. I felt no anger. I felt no hatred. I felt only a vast, profound emptiness.

“You didn’t love me, Victor,” I said, my voice carrying clearly through the silent marble corridor. “You loved the power you thought you had over a helpless woman. You thought I had nobody. You thought no one was coming for me.”

I leaned in slightly, my eyes locking onto his terrified gaze.