---- Chapter 7 Antony Dean POV: The moment | saw her-my Charlotte, my long-lost daughter, strapped to that sterile chair with tears carving paths down her pale cheeks-a rage unlike anything | had ever known ignited in my soul. It was a cold, silent fury, the kind that doesn't scream but meticulously, methodically annihilates. My men, the best security operatives in the world, moved with silent, brutal efficiency. The two thugs holding Charlotte were neutralized before they could even blink. The doctor and nurses were corralled into a corner, their faces ashen with terror. | walked directly to Eleanor Sullivan. She tried to muster some of her characteristic arrogance, puffing up her chest. "Who do you think you are? Do you have any idea who | am?" | stopped inches from her face. | didn't raise my voice. | didn't need to. "| know exactly who you are, Mrs. Sullivan," | said, my voice a low, lethal whisper. "You are the woman who is about to lose everything." Fear, stark and pure, finally broke through her composure. ---- My gaze shifted to Robert Jennings, the man who had raised my daughter only to sell her out. He was trying to shrink into the wall, to become invisible. "And you," | said, my voice dripping with contempt. "You will be hearing from my lawyers. The adoption was a fraud. You are no longer her father. You are nothing to her." He crumpled, his face a mask of pathetic disbelief. But my focus was on Charlotte. | went to her side, gently unfastening the restraints. Her skin was cold, her body trembling uncontrollably. My wife, Genevra, rushed in behind me, her face a storm of grief and fury. She gathered Charlotte into her arms, murmuring soft, soothing words in her ear, shielding her from the ugliness of the room. "It's over, my love," Genevra whispered, stroking Charlotte' s hair. "You' re safe. Mama' s here." | turned to my head of security, Ethan Stokes, the young man who had tried to extract her earlier. His face was grim. "Secure them," | ordered, gesturing to the Sullivans and Jennings. "No one leaves. No one makes a phone call. | want their assets frozen by sunrise. All of them. Start with Sullivan Tech' s pending IPO. | want it buried under so much regulatory scrutiny it never sees the light of day. And find Gabe Sullivan. | want to know every move he makes." Ethan simply nodded. "Consider it done, Mr. Dean." ---- | watched as Genevra led our daughter out of that horrific room, a protective shield around her. The strength and resilience | saw in Charlotte' s eyes, even in the depths of her trauma, was pure Dean. She was ours. And we had almost lost her. The fury returned, colder and sharper than before. The Sullivans thought they were powerful because they had new money. They were about to learn the difference between a fleeting fortune built on code and the enduring, crushing weight of old power, the kind that moves governments and topples empires without ever making a sound. They hadn't just harmed a young woman. They had harmed the sole heiress to the Dean dynasty. And for that, | would burn their world to the ground. Gabe Sullivan POV: The sea air in the Hamptons was supposed to be relaxing. The weekend with Harper was supposed to be a strategic retreat, a way to keep her calm and manage the narrative until Monday. But | couldn't relax. A knot of unease had been tightening in my gut ever since I'd left Charlotte in that room Her compliance... it had felt wrong. Too easy. Charlotte was a fighter. She was the strongest woman | knew. For her to just give in? It wasn't like her. ---- "Gabe, darling, come look at the sunset!" Harper called from the balcony of our beachfront rental. She was glowing, happy, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. "In a minute," | called back, pulling out my phone. | tried calling Charlotte. It went straight to voicemail. | tried again. Voicemail. Acold dread began to seep into my bones. | called my mother. "Everything is proceeding as planned," she said, her voice crisp and businesslike. "Charlotte has signed the papers. She is being... cooperative." But her voice sounded strained. Something was off. "| want to talk to her," | said. "That' s not a good idea, Gabriel. She needs to be kept calm." "Put her on the phone, Mother," | insisted, my voice rising. There was a pause. "That' s not possible right now. Don' t worry. Everything is under control. Just enjoy your weekend. We' Il see you Monday." She hung up before | could argue. Under control. The words echoed in my head, but they didn' t bring comfort. They sounded like a threat. | thought about the look in Charlotte' s eyes before | left. The emptiness. The resignation. It wasn' t the look of a woman ---- who was cooperating. It was the look of a woman who had given up. Or a woman who had another plan. Harper came back inside, pouting. "You' re thinking about her again, aren' t you?" "Harper, not now." "It's always about her!" she whined, her voice grating on my already frayed nerves. "When are you going to realize that |' m the one who's here for you? I' m the one carrying your child!" | looked at her, at the woman who had been my friend since childhood, the woman who had come to me in tears, pregnant and alone. | had done all this for her. | had risked my marriage, my company, my own child... for her. For loyalty. But looking at her now, her face twisted in a petulant frown, | felt a sudden, sickening wave of regret. This was wrong. All of it was wrong. | had to go back. | had to stop this. "I'm going back to the city," | said, grabbing my keys "What? No!" Harper shrieked, blocking the door. "You can't leave me here!" "Watch me," | said, pushing past her. The drive back was a blur of frantic speed and mounting panic. My calls to Charlotte still went to voicemail. My mother was ---- no longer answering her phone. When | finally burst into the penthouse, it was dark and silent. Eerily so. "Charlotte?" | called out, my voice echoing in the empty space. | ran to the guest room. The bed was neatly made. Her laptop was gone. Her purse was gone. She was gone. A piece of paper was on the pillow. It wasn't a note. It was a legal document. A restraining order. My blood ran cold as | read the name of the petitioner: Charlotte Dean. Dean. It couldn't be. It was impossible. The Deans were practically American royalty, a phantom dynasty that no one ever saw. Charlotte was an orphan, adopted by the middle-class Jennings. But as | stared at the signature, a memory surfaced of her mentioning a letter from her birth parents years ago, a letter she had dismissed. A letter from Antony Dean. My phone rang, startling me. It was my father, his voice choked with panic. "Gabe! The IPO has been halted! Federal regulators are ---- launching a full-scale investigation into the company! Our accounts have been frozen! All of them! What the hell is going on?" The restraining order slipped from my numb fingers. It was real. All of it. Charlotte wasn't just the brilliant architect | had married. She was the heir to a power that dwarfed my own. And | had just let my mother try to destroy her and her child. A guttural roar of despair tore from my throat. | had thought | was managing a crisis. | had thought | was in control. | had just declared war on an empire. And | had already lost.