Three days after giving birth, I watched my daughter’s father refuse to sign her birth certificate while his pregnant mistress stood beside him smiling. Then the most feared man in the hospital stepped out of the shadows, looked at my newborn through the nursery glass, and claimed her in a voice that made everyone stop breathing.

The aftermath of the gala was swift and merciless.

Videos of Brittany calling Rosalie a bastard, followed by my slap and Luca’s ultimatum, went viral online within two hours. The public narrative completely flipped. The city saw Derek and Brittany for what they were—cruel, arrogant bullies—while I was praised as a fierce mother standing up for her child.

Stock prices for Hale Development plummeted eight percent by Monday morning.

However, three days after the ball, a darker storm began to gather.

I was sitting in the sunroom at Blackwood Manor, holding Rosalie while she drank her bottle, when Barnaby Coyle—Luca’s chief legal counsel—walked in carrying a thick Manila folder.

Luca followed behind him, his expression darker than usual.

"Emma," Barnaby said respectfully, taking a seat across from me. "We have a development regarding Derek Morrison."

I set Rosalie’s bottle down, burping her gently over my shoulder. "What has he done now?"

"He didn't do it alone," Barnaby explained, opening the folder. "Benjamin Hale hired a team of high-priced family lawyers in Charlotte. They have filed an official petition in Wake County Family Court for an emergency court-ordered DNA paternity test, along with a petition for interim custody rights."

My heart dropped into my stomach. "Custody rights? He doesn't want Rosalie! He just wants to hurt me and regain his reputation!"

"We know," Luca said, stepping behind my chair, resting his large hand reassuringly on the back of my seat. "Hale believes that if they can prove biological paternity, they can force you into a shared-custody agreement, using the child as leverage to force me to drop my financial sanctions against their firm."

"Can they force a DNA test?" I asked Barnaby, my voice trembling. "Luca signed the birth certificate!"

"In North Carolina," Barnaby explained cautiously, "a signed Voluntary Acknowledgment of Paternity can be challenged within sixty days if a alleged biological father files a petition claiming fraud or material mistake of fact. Because Derek requested a test at the hospital—which we have on record—a judge may very well order the DNA swab."

I looked down at Rosalie. She cooed softly, reaching her tiny fingers up to grab my necklace. The thought of Derek—a man who looked at her with disgust—having the legal right to take her away from me for weekends made me physically sick.

"I won't let him touch her," I whispered, tears filling my eyes. "I'll take her and leave the state. I'll change our names—"

"No," Luca said firmly.

I looked up at him.

Luca leaned down, his face inches from mine, his dark eyes ablaze with unshakeable resolve.

"You are not running, Emma," Luca said softly. "You will never run again. Let them file their petition. Let them demand their test."

"Why?" I asked, confused. "If the test proves he's the biological father—"

"A biological link is merely blood," Luca interrupted, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous tone. "Parentage is custody, care, and fitness. While they prepare their legal petition, Barnaby and I have been preparing something else."

Barnaby pulled a second set of documents from his briefcase.

"Derek Morrison’s architectural firm has been falsifying safety inspection reports on three commercial buildings in downtown Raleigh to cut costs for the Hale Corporation," Barnaby revealed. "We have the whistleblower affidavits from his senior engineer."

I stared at the papers in shock. "That's criminal fraud."

"It is felony reckless endangerment," Luca added with a cold smile. "The moment Derek Morrison steps into that courtroom to demand a DNA test for Rosalie, the District Attorney will serve him with a criminal indictment."