My husband had absolutely no idea that I had just inherited two hundred million dolalrs. Before I found the courage to tell him, he looked at me with contempt and shouted: “I can’t afford to support a woman without a job anymore. Get out!”

A month passed after the night of the gala.

The downfall of Tyler Vance was swift and total.

Faced with criminal embezzlement charges from Sterling Global, a massive civil suit from my legal team, and total eviction from his apartment, Tyler lost everything. His bank accounts were frozen, his leased Audi was repossessed, and Victoria Sterling filed a restraining order against him after he spent three days drunkenly begging outside her family's estate.

He was forced to move into a dingy, one-bedroom motel on the outskirts of Phoenix, living off credit cards that were rapidly reaching their limits.

However, a cornered rat is always the most dangerous.

On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, I was sitting in the sunny nursery of my Paradise Valley estate, cradling one-month-old Leo in my arms. Chloe was sitting on the sofa nearby, leafing through a baby book.

My phone rang. It was Ms. Jenkins.

"Mrs. Vance," Ms. Jenkins' voice was grim. "Tyler just took a desperate gamble."

I shifted Leo gently onto my shoulder. "What did he do?"

"He retained a sleazy, headline-seeking attorney named Frank Mercer," Ms. Jenkins said. "They just filed an emergency motion in Maricopa County Family Court requesting full physical custody of Leo, along with a demand for twenty-five thousand dollars a month in temporary child support from you."

Chloe gasped loudly. "Custody?! Is he insane?!"

"On what grounds?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

"Mercer is arguing that your sudden acquisition of immense wealth makes you an unfit, unstable parent," Ms. Jenkins explained. "They claim that your busy schedule as Chairwoman of Vance International forces you to neglect your child, while Tyler—currently unemployed—can provide 'full-time parental care.'"

A dark, volcanic rage flared deep within my soul. He didn't care about Leo. He had never held him, never fed him, never spent a single dollar on his clothing. He wanted custody for one reason only: to extract millions of dollars in child support from my trust.

"They've also leaked the filing to the tabloids," Ms. Jenkins added. "There are news crews gathering outside the courthouse right now."

I stood up from the rocking chair, placing Leo gently into his crib.

"When is the emergency hearing?" I asked.

"Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock before Judge Marcus Cole," Ms. Jenkins replied. "Judge Cole is notoriously strict when it comes to custody battles."

"Good," I said, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the manicured estate gardens. "Call Mr. Harrison. Tell him to compile every medical record, every security tape, and every financial transaction tied to Tyler over the last six months."