Seven months after the divorce, my phone vibrated with his caller ID. “You should come to our wedding,” he said, his tone dripping with arrogant pity. “She’s expecting a baby—something you could never do.” I froze, my knuckles turning white against the hospital blanket.

The wedding dissolved into absolute chaos.

Guests were standing, shouting, and pulling out their phones to record. Julian’s investors, who occupied the front rows, were already aggressively dialing their legal teams, frantically trying to distance themselves from the radioactive fallout of Julian’s company.

“Clara, please!” Julian begged, dropping to his knees on the stone patio. His pristine tuxedo was wrinkled. His arrogance was entirely gone. “I didn't know! I swear to God I didn't know she stole from you!”

“It doesn't matter if you knew, Julian,” I said, looking down at him with absolute pity. “Your signature is on the receiving accounts. The SEC has already frozen your assets. Your company is dead.”

Elena was dragged back up the aisle, screaming Julian’s name, her veil dragging through the dirt.

Julian looked up at me, tears streaming down his face, and then he looked at Leo. The son he had always wanted. The son he had thrown away.

“Let me hold him,” Julian choked out, reaching a shaking hand toward my baby. “Please, Clara. He’s my son. Let me hold my boy.”

I stepped back, out of his reach.

“No.”

“I have rights!” Julian suddenly shouted, a desperate anger flashing in his eyes. “I am his father! You hid him from me! I’ll take you to court! I’ll take custody!”

I let out a slow, cold laugh.