"He once handed me money to walk away from our unborn twins, but when he saw their gray eyes in a crowded mall five years later, the color drained from his face.

The annual Columbus Architectural and Urban Design Gala was the premier social event of the year, held in the grand ballroom of the historic Lazarus building downtown. Chandeliers sparkled overhead like frozen stars, string quartets played softly in the background, and the city's elite mingled in designer gowns and bespoke tuxedos.

Whitmore Design had been nominated for firm of the year, a recognition I had worked eighty-hour weeks to achieve. I stood near the edge of the ballroom holding a glass of sparkling water, wearing a sleek emerald-green silk gown that hugged my frame, trying to enjoy the evening.

Yet my mind was elsewhere. Eleanor’s visit had cast a heavy, suffocating shadow over the last forty-eight hours. I hadn't told Preston about her ultimatum—partly because I wanted to handle it myself, and partly because I wanted to see if he had the spine to stand up to his mother on his own terms.

Then the heavy double doors at the entrance of the ballroom parted.

A hush seemed to ripple through the room as Preston Callahan entered, flanked not by his mother, but walking alone. He looked devastatingly handsome in a dark tuxedo, his silver-threaded hair neatly styled, his eyes scanning the crowded room with urgent intensity.

It didn't take him long to find me.

He cut straight across the polished marble floor, ignoring the local politicians and developers trying to catch his eye, and stopped right in front of me.

"Caroline," he breathed, his chest rising and falling. "I've been calling your office all day."

"I've been busy, Preston," I replied coolly, taking a sip of my water. "And this is a professional event. Stalking me across town doesn't really fit the dress code."

"My mother went to see you on Tuesday," he blurted out, ignoring my sarcasm.

I paused, lowering my glass. "Ah. So she finally confessed."

"She didn't confess anything. I found her private itinerary on her desk at the Chicago office, and I pieced it together," Preston said, his voice dropping into a tight, furious whisper. "She offered you the municipal contract, didn't she? She tried to buy you off again."

"She offered me exile and a gag order," I corrected him, my voice flat. "Just like old times."

Preston closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose as if trying to stave off a violent migraine. "I'm so sorry, Caroline. When I confronted her this morning—when I told her that I was filing for joint custody and putting my sons in my will—she lost her mind. She told me I was dead to the family."

"And what did you say?" I asked, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitation.

"I told her the Callahan dynasty can rot in hell," Preston said without a single second of hesitation, his voice ringing with absolute, unshakeable conviction. "For five years, I let her control my life, my choices, and my happiness. I'm not letting her steal my children too."

Before I could answer, a sharp, amplified cough echoed from the podium at the front of the ballroom.

The master of ceremonies tapped his microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for a brief announcement regarding tonight's keynote legacy award, and a very special guest who has just flown in from Chicago to join us..."

The spotlights at the front of the room shifted, casting a brilliant white beam toward the side entrance.

Stepping through the doors, draped in custom Chanel and dripping in diamonds, was Eleanor Callahan.