Chapter 3 - The Falling Dominoes
Flashbulbs detonated like miniature lightning bolts across the ballroom. Photographers, reporters, and guests raised their phones in unison, capturing every single second of the spectacle.
"Oh my God!" a woman in the front row shrieked. "Look at the screen!"
"Zero percent?! The baby isn't his?!"
"He's sterile?! He lied for ten years?!"
Brandon stood frozen on the stage, his body shaking violently as he looked at the screen, then at the piece of paper in his hands, and finally at Tiffany.
Tiffany’s face was a mask of pure, unadulterated terror. The delicate, innocent expression she had cultivated for months vanished, replaced by the panicked look of a cornered animal. She shrank back, her hands dropping away from her stomach as if trying to hide it.
"Tiffany..." Brandon whispered, his voice cracking, turning into a raspy, guttural gasp. "What... what is this?"
"Brandon, baby! Listen to me!" Tiffany stammered, tears instantly pouring down her face as she reached for his arm. "It’s a lie! She forged it! She hired someone to fake those documents! You know I only love you! You know this is your baby!"
"Don't touch me!" Brandon roared, throwing her hand off so violently that she stumbled backward onto the polished floor.
Deborah rushed forward, her face purple with rage and panic. "Sabrina! You psychopath! You fabricated these papers to humiliate my son! I’ll sue you for everything you’re worth! I’ll destroy you!"
"Deborah, please," I said, looking down at my mother-in-law with cool indifference. "The lab results are signed by Dr. Harrison, the head of medical genetics at UCLA. The DNA samples from Tiffany were extracted during her routine amniocentesis last month—the one you sent me to pay for. And as for Brandon’s sample, I retrieved his hair follicles from his comb."
I turned toward Tiffany, who was sobbing hysterically on the floor.
"And if anyone is wondering who the real father is," I continued, taking another page out of my folder, "the DNA profile matched a second sample I submitted. A sample belonging to Marcus Vance... Brandon’s head of corporate security."
The entire crowd let out a collective, synchronized gasp.
"Marcus?!" Brandon screamed, turning his head toward the side of the room where his trusted bodyguard and head of security was standing.
Marcus Vance, a tall, broad-shouldered man who had worked for Brandon for four years, took two steps back toward the double doors, his eyes wide with panic. He didn't even attempt to deny it. Sensing the violent rage emanating from Brandon, Marcus turned on his heel and sprinted out of the ballroom into the courtyard.
"YOU BASTARD!" Brandon shrieked, sprinting off the stage like a madman, knocking over a tray of champagne glasses, sending crystal shattering across the marble floor.
He lunged toward the exit, but the crowd blocked his path, whispering, laughing, and filming his breakdown on their phones.
Tiffany pulled herself up from the floor, clutching her stomach, weeping uncontrollably. "Brandon! Wait! He forced himself on me! I swear!"
"Shut up, you lying whore!" Deborah screamed, turning on Tiffany like a rabid dog, grabbing her by her hair. "You brought a bastard child into my house?! You tried to trap my son with another man's brat?!"
The stage turned into a chaotic brawl. Deborah was clawing at Tiffany’s dress, Tiffany was screaming bloody murder, and Brandon was screaming outside in the driveway as he chased his security chief through the front gates.
I stood in the center of the stage, untouched, unbothered, and entirely calm.
I took a slow sip of my sparkling cider. The sweet, cold liquid tasted like victory.
A tall man in a tailored grey suit stepped up onto the stage beside me. It was Arthur Vance—no relation to Marcus—the premier divorce and asset recovery attorney in California, whom I had secretly retained two weeks ago.
"A masterclass in execution, Sabrina," Arthur said smoothly, handing me a small leather folder. "The press has already picked up the live stream. The story is trending nationwide. Keller Enterprises stock is going to drop twenty percent by tomorrow morning."
"Is everything ready, Arthur?" I asked, looking down at the chaos unfolding on the lawn below.
"Everything," Arthur replied with a sharp smile. "The emergency asset freeze has been approved by the judge. The locks on your personal accounts have been released. And the police are waiting outside."
I looked down at Deborah, who was panting, her hair disheveled, staring up at me with venomous eyes.
"You think you won, Sabrina?!" Deborah screamed at me, her voice hoarse. "You're still nothing! You have no money! Every single dollar in this house belongs to the Keller estate! You’ll be thrown out on the street with nothing but the clothes on your back!"
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I stepped to the edge of the stage, looking down at the woman who had tormented me for a decade.
"You're wrong, Deborah," I said softly, my voice carrying over the sound system one last time. "You see... Brandon didn't just lie about his fertility. He spent the last five years hiding marital assets in shell companies using my late father’s estate trust. Today, the court seized all of them. This house doesn't belong to Brandon anymore. It belongs to me."
