Lena Hart watched as six-year-old Owen proudly lifted a clear ornament containing pale powder

Daphne flinched violently, her diamond earrings shaking. She pointed a trembling finger toward a heavy brass wastebasket positioned near the far end of the mirrored walls. "I... I emptied it over there. I didn't think it mattered."

Elias did not look at her. He turned his head slightly, his dark eyes softening as they landed on Lena. The housemaid was shaking uncontrollably, still cradling the glass ornament against her rumpled apron.

"Vincent," Elias ordered, his voice unwavering. "Secure the wastebasket. Do not let a single speck of dust leave this room until we have recovered every trace of her mother."

"Yes, Boss," Vincent replied immediately, moving with precise, respectful care to secure the brass bin.

Elias turned his attention back to Daphne. He stood immovably in his tailored dark three-piece suit. He kept his broad shoulders squarely between his son and the woman who had manipulated them all. He felt absolutely nothing for her. The political affection he had feigned for the sake of the syndicate merger evaporated instantly, leaving behind a cold, calculating void that craved only survival and absolute retribution.

"Are you prepared to remove the ring from your finger, Daphne, or must I cut it from your hand?" Elias asked, his deep voice carrying a measured, lethal calm.

Daphne dropped her hands, her fair skin streaked with ruined makeup. She knew the stories of what Elias Crowne did to traitors within his syndicate.

"You can't do this!" Daphne choked out, the venom returning as self-preservation took over. "My father is Victor Vane! He commands the entire southern seaboard! He will burn your empire to the ground if you humiliate me like this!"

"Is your father a man who fights battles for foolish, sadistic daughters?" Elias asked quietly.

"He will kill you!" Daphne pleaded, reaching out to grasp the edge of a velvet sofa. "I am going to be your wife, Elias! We signed the contracts! You cannot back out now without causing a massive war!"

"Do you expect me to harbor a sociopath under my roof to appease a shipping magnate?" Elias asked.

He didn't wait for her to answer. He reached into his tailored jacket and retrieved a sleek, encrypted smartphone. He dialed a single digit and pressed the phone to his ear. The small artistic tattoo above his collar shifted seamlessly with the movement.

"Marcus," Elias said into the receiver, his eyes locked on his former fiancée. "Will you come to the drawing room and escort Miss Vane to the holding cells beneath the east wing immediately?"

He lowered the phone and looked at the broken socialite one last time.

"Have you finally realized the price of your ambition, Daphne?" Elias asked softly, as the heavy mahogany doors of the drawing room burst open.

Marcus and another massive security guard in dark suits entered the room. They marched forward without a word, hauling Daphne roughly to her feet. She shrieked, thrashing wildly against their iron grip, but they were unyielding.