511 I returned a wallet stuffed with cash to Nathaniel Graves—the richest, most feared mafia boss in America—only to be mocked by his receptionist and surrounded by armed guards. But when he spotted the pink eviction notice sticking out of my backpack, his face went deathly pale, and he ordered every entrance sealed.

Before Vincent could even draw breath to reply, the private elevator chime rang out again.

Ding.

The doors slid open to reveal Viktor and four heavily armed tactical guards in full black gear, blocking every exit route from the foyer.

Vincent’s face drained of color. He tried to twist away from Nathaniel’s grip, his aristocratic composure shattering instantly into raw, desperate panic.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Vincent shrieked, struggling against Nathaniel’s iron grasp. “You can’t detain me! I’m a founding partner! I have voting shares!”

“You had voting shares,” Nathaniel corrected him coldly, shoving Vincent back against the glass wall with enough force to rattle the windowpanes. “As of ten minutes ago, an emergency forensic audit conducted by my private compliance team uncovered forty-two counts of corporate embezzlement, offshore tax evasion, and unauthorized asset stripping directly tied to your personal accounts over the last decade.”

Vincent’s eyes bulged in absolute horror. “You... you fabricated those documents—”

“I didn't have to fabricate anything,” Nathaniel interrupted smoothly. “You’ve been bleeding my company dry for years, Vincent, assuming I was too distracted by my own grief to notice. But I noticed. I was just waiting for the right moment to cut the cancer out.”

He turned his head slightly toward the dark hallway where I stood hiding behind the pillar.

“Ruby,” Nathaniel said softly, his voice dropping its lethal edge and returning to the gentle warmth he reserved only for me. “Go inside your room, sweetheart. Put on your headphones and watch a movie. Daddy has some business to take care of.”

I nodded slowly, too terrified to speak, and retreated down the hallway as Viktor and his men stepped forward, grabbing Vincent by his arms and dragging the screaming, flailing corporate executive toward the elevator.

“You can’t do this, Nathaniel!” Vincent screamed as the metal doors began to slide shut. “The board will destroy you! The syndicate will tear you apart!”

Clang.

The elevator doors sealed shut, cutting off his voice entirely.

Nathaniel stood alone in the foyer for a long moment, breathing heavily, running a hand through his silver-streaked hair. Then he turned around, walking slowly down the hallway until he found me standing by the door of my new bedroom.

He knelt down, looking into my eyes, his own eyes shining with a fierce, unwavering protection.

“Are you okay, Ruby?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“I’m okay, Dad,” I whispered.

It was the first time I had ever called him that.

The word hung in the vast, silent penthouse like a sacred blessing. Nathaniel’s breath hitched. A fresh tear spilled over his lashes, but this time, he was smiling—a wide, bright, genuine smile that completely transformed his face.