The ballroom of the Sterling Estate was a masterclass in aggressive opulence. Three hundred guests—a sea of black-tie attire, tuxedoed staff, and genuine diamonds—stood beneath crystal chandeliers that had been imported piece-by-piece from Versailles.

Genevieve did not panic. She had expected a counter-attack.

"Victoria is lying," Genevieve said, her voice steady and loud enough to cut through the noise. "She fabricated these documents because she cannot handle passing the torch to the next generation. Arthur, look at me."

Arthur was pale, his eyes darting between the mother who had controlled him and the wife who had seduced him. "Is it true, Gen? The debt?"

"Of course not," she lied flawlessly, placing a tender hand on his cheek. "She's trying to turn you against me. Sign the paper, Arthur. Show them who the real Vanguard is."

Arthur looked down at the pen. He looked at the black folder. And for the first time in his thirty-two years of life, Arthur Vanguard made a decision entirely on his own.

He slid the contract back across the table, unsigned.

"Meeting adjourned," Arthur said, his voice trembling but resolute. He stood up and walked out of the room, leaving his wife standing alone in the crossfire.

Genevieve’s mask finally slipped. She glared at Victoria across the mahogany table.