Two months passed. The divorce was finalized in record time, thanks to the undeniable evidence of Preston’s infidelity and the iron-clad lawyers Raymond employed. Preston was left with exactly what he had brought into the marriage: a massive ego and absolutely no marketable skills.

Emily was now thirty-eight weeks pregnant. She had moved into the Saint Claire family estate, a sprawling, heavily guarded mansion in the Hamptons. She was glowing, at peace, and busy learning the ropes of her uncle’s empire, preparing to take her rightful place.

But desperate men do stupid things.

It was a rainy Tuesday evening. Emily was returning from a prenatal yoga class, sitting in the back of her chauffeured Maybach. The heavy gates of the estate slowly swung open.

Suddenly, a figure darted out from the bushes, completely soaking wet, waving a tire iron.

“Stop the car!” the man screamed.

The chauffeur slammed on the brakes just in time. Emily gasped, clutching her stomach as the seatbelt locked.

She looked out the rain-streaked window. It was Preston. He looked like a wild animal. He was unshaven, his eyes were bloodshot, and his clothes were filthy. The former playboy CEO was unrecognizable.

“Emily! Get out here!” Preston screamed, slamming the tire iron against the bulletproof glass of the window. The glass didn’t shatter, but the loud thwack made Emily’s heart race.

“Lock the doors,” Emily ordered the driver, pulling out her phone to call estate security.

Preston pressed his face against the glass, sobbing and screaming. “You ruined me! I have nothing! No money, no friends, my father won’t speak to me! It’s your fault! You hid who you were! You tricked me!”

It was the ultimate narcissism. Even now, in the gutter, Preston believed he was the victim.

“Security is on the way, ma’am,” the driver said, his hand resting on his holstered weapon.

Preston swung the iron again, denting the door. “Give me my son! I have rights! I’ll take the baby, and you’ll have to pay me child support! You owe me!”

At the mention of her baby being taken by this monster, a sharp, white-hot pain suddenly ripped through Emily’s lower back. She gasped, dropping her phone. The pain wrapped around to her abdomen, squeezing like a vice.

“Ma’am?” the driver asked, turning around in panic.

“Drive,” Emily managed to choke out through gritted teeth. “My water just broke.”

Outside, three estate security SUVs swarmed the Maybach. Guards poured out, tackling Preston to the wet asphalt. He screamed and thrashed as they pinned him down, slapping heavy steel cuffs onto his wrists.