I stood eight months pregnant in the freezing rain with only $100, until three armored SUVs trapped my ex-husband’s Mercedes.

I didn’t sleep that night. I lay in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling, turning Nathaniel’s revelations over in my head. My mother had been a hero. She’d hidden a secret that could destroy the Blackwell empire. And I, her daughter, had walked blindly into the lion’s den and married the lion.

At seven in the morning, my phone buzzed. It was an unknown number.

You think hiding behind that old man will save you? The text read. Sign the papers giving up all rights to the baby, and I’ll make your life easy. Refuse, and I’ll tell the world you’re a gold-digging whore who kidnapped Cross’s new toy. The press will eat you alive.

Jonathan.

My hands shook. I was about to delete it when the door opened. Nathaniel walked in, already dressed in another immaculate suit, holding a tablet. He took one look at my face and crossed the room in three strides.

"Give it to me," he said, holding out his hand.

I handed him the phone. He read the text, and for a second, I thought the tablet in his other hand would shatter in his grip. His face went from neutral to terrifyingly calm in a heartbeat—the kind of calm that precedes a hurricane.

"Good," he said, almost to himself. "He’s making this easy."

He tapped a button on his tablet. Within seconds, the room was filled with people. His head of security, a team of lawyers in sharp suits, a PR woman who looked like she could charm a cobra into striking itself.

"Mr. Cross?" the lead lawyer asked.

"Blackwell just sent a threatening text to Miss Hale," Nathaniel said, his voice like shards of ice. "He’s planning a smear campaign. He’s also currently in possession of stolen property—a vintage emerald necklace, property of the Hale estate, valued at 2.4 million dollars. He acquired it by looting Miss Hale’s private residence during the divorce proceedings."

The lawyers’ pens flew across their notepads.

"Also," Nathaniel continued, turning to the PR woman, "leak a story to the Post. Tell them Cross Meridian is filing a civil suit against Blackwell Industries for 'systemic harassment and endangerment of a protected party.' Make sure the protected party is identified only as 'a pregnant former employee.' Let the internet do the rest. They love a David and Goliath story... especially when Goliath is a cheating husband who throws women into the rain."

He turned back to me, his expression softening instantly, as if he hadn’t just declared war in the span of two minutes.

"Eat your breakfast, Grace," he said, nodding at a tray Mrs. Hale had set down. "You’re eating for two. And trust me... by lunchtime, Jonathan Blackwell is going to be too busy trying to save his company to bother threatening you."

He was right.

By nine AM, my phone was blowing up with news alerts.

BLACKWELL INDUSTRIES STOCK PLUMMETS FOLLOWING CROSS MERIDIAN LAWSUIT.

MYSTERY PREGNANT WOMAN AT CENTER OF BILLIONAIRE FEUD—WHO IS SHE?

JONATHAN BLACKWELL: CHEAT, THIEF, OR BOTH? SOCIAL MEDIA ERUPTS.

I watched the news unfold on the giant screen in the living room. Financial analysts were dissecting Jonathan’s company like vultures. His picture was everywhere, looking haggard and angry outside his office. Lila was pictured too, trying to hide her face behind oversized sunglasses—but the cameras caught the flash of green at her throat.

Is that the stolen necklace? the ticker at the bottom of the screen read.

Nathaniel sat beside me on the sofa, sipping coffee, looking utterly bored by the chaos he had created. He was checking his emails, occasionally tapping a reply that would send another ripple of destruction through Jonathan’s world.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, for the hundredth time. "You could have just given me money. Sent me away. Why the war?"

He put down his tablet and looked at me. Really looked at me.

"Because, Grace," he said slowly, "men like Jonathan don’t understand kindness. They understand power. If I had just given you a check, he would have hunted you down. He would have taken the baby. He would have made your life a living hell until you had nothing left."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that made my stomach flutter in a way that had nothing to do with the baby.

"And I promised your mother I would protect you. I don’t break promises. Especially not to women who save my life."

Before I could respond, his head of security burst into the room, his face grave.

"Sir," he said urgently. "We have a problem. Blackwell just held a press conference. He’s... he’s claiming the baby is yours, sir. He says you fathered the child during an affair with Grace while she was married to him. He’s filing for an emergency paternity test and a restraining order, claiming you kidnapped his wife and unborn child."

The room went dead silent. The lawyers froze. The PR woman’s jaw dropped.

I felt the blood drain from my face. No. That was impossible. I’d never even met Nathaniel before yesterday. Jonathan was lying. Desperate.

But I knew how the world worked. In the court of public opinion, the lie was salacious. It was explosive. And it would stick.

I looked at Nathaniel, expecting anger. Expecting him to lash out.

Instead, he slowly stood up. He adjusted his cufflinks. And he smiled. It was the smile of a man who had just been handed the checkmate move on a silver platter.

"Perfect," he said.

Everyone stared at him.

"Sir?" the PR woman stammered. "Perfect? He’s accusing you of adultery! The board—"

"Will thank me," Nathaniel interrupted, his eyes gleaming. "Because now, we don’t just get to destroy him for theft and harassment. We get to destroy him for defamation of a billionaire. And when we prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the child is his... the world will see him for exactly what he is: a sniveling, cowardly liar who would sell his own unborn son for a stock bump."

He walked over to me and knelt down, bringing himself eye level with my belly. He reached out a hand, hovering it just above my stomach, as if asking permission.

I nodded.

He placed his palm gently on the curve of my belly. A second later, a tiny foot kicked against his hand.

Nathaniel’s breath caught. His icy blue eyes widened, filling with a wonder I had never seen on any man’s face. Not even Jonathan, when I’d told him I was pregnant.

"Hello, little one," Nathaniel whispered, so softly only I could hear. "Don’t you worry. Uncle Nathaniel is going to make sure the whole world knows exactly who your father is. And he’s going to make sure he never hurts you or your mommy ever again."