The aide stepped forward, handing a thick sheaf of legal documents directly to Daniel.
"Notice of immediate annulment and custody forfeiture," the aide said flatly. "Sign them now, Mr. Greyson. Or the next set of papers served to you will be a criminal indictment for corporate fraud, grand larceny, and conspiracy to commit aggravated battery against an expectant mother."
"I won't sign," Daniel sobbed, clutching the papers to his chest. "Vivienne, please! That baby is a Greyson! You can't take my child from me! I have rights!"
"A Greyson?" I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that cut Daniel to the bone. "Look at yourself, Daniel. Look at your mother, who assaulted me. Look at your sister, who framed me. You think any judge on this earth will grant you unsupervised visitation with my child?"
"I’m his father!"
"A father protects," I said, leaning down slightly so he could see the absolute lack of feeling in my eyes. "You were an incubator’s husband, Daniel. Nothing more. You failed the only test that ever mattered."
Arthur raised his hand.
Two of the tactical officers stepped forward, flanking Daniel. One of them produced a heavy gold pen, unscrewed the cap, and held it out.
"Sign," Arthur commanded. "Or my legal team will file the paperwork to ensure you spend the next fifteen years in a federal penitentiary for the offshore tax evasion your firm committed in 2021. Yes, Daniel. I have those files too."
Daniel froze.
He looked at the pen. He looked at Eleanor, who was staring blankly at the floor, completely shattered. He looked at Chloe, who was pulling at her hair in silent, hysterical grief.
Nobody was coming to save him.
The two hundred high-society guests who had spent the last three years whispering behind my back were currently pulling out their phones, frantically deleting photos, whispering to their spouses to distance themselves from the Greysons before the market opened tomorrow morning.
Daniel took the pen.
His hand shook so badly he could barely form the letters. With every signature, every initial, a piece of his soul seemed to crumble away.
*Daniel Greyson.*
*Relinquishment of parental rights.*
*Full financial indemnification.*
*Total waiver of marital assets.*
When he signed the final page, the aide snatched the papers back, inspected the ink, and nodded once to Arthur.
"It is done, sir."
"Good," Arthur said.
He turned to the lead security officer. "Escort Mr. Greyson, Mrs. Greyson, and the bride off the premises. Let them walk out the front gates on foot. The limousines belong to the venue, and the venue has just been purchased by Vance Hospitality."
"Wait!" Eleanor shrieked as two burly officers gripped her by the elbows, lifting her off the floor. "My jewelry! My bags! Our coats!"
"Everything inside this hall is collateral against your eighty-four million dollar default," Arthur said, without even glancing back. "Get them out of my sight."
The dragging of Eleanor and Chloe across the marble floor was accompanied by their desperate, undignified wailing.
Chloe kicked and screamed, her white wedding dress tearing against the shattered fragments of champagne flutes, leaving ugly gray streaks along the hem. Eleanor spat curses, threatening lawsuits, threatening divine retribution, until the heavy doors of the hotel foyer slammed shut behind them, cutting off their cries forever.
Daniel was the last to be dragged out.
He didn't scream. He didn't curse. He just kept his eyes glued to me, tears streaming down his hollow cheeks, whispering my name like a prayer that would never be answered.
*“Vivienne... Vivi... please... I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...”*
I didn't watch him leave.
