I was sentenced to twenty-five years in prison for my billionaire adoptive father’s death. As the guards prepared to take me away, my mother-in-law pretended to cry while my husband gently rested his hand on his pregnant mistress’s belly. They believed they’d stolen my freedom and gained control of a nearly $5 billion empire. I simply smiled and revealed one name: “Clara Thorne.” My husband’s expression changed instantly. Seconds later, the prosecutor shouted, “Stop the transfer!” But the secret surrounding his first wife’s disappearance five years earlier was only the beginning…

“On the count of Murder in the First Degree,” the jury foreperson announced, her voice trembling in the dead-silent courtroom, “we find the defendant, Eleanor Vance… **guilty**.”

A collective gasp swept through the press gallery.

Beatrice let out a loud, theatrical shriek of triumph from the front row: *”Justice! God has finally answered our prayers!”*

Harrison Hayes gripped my forearm, his knuckles turning white through his wool sleeve. “We file the notice of appeal immediately, Eleanor. The chain of custody on that digitalis order was compromised. The federal financial audit is still tracing the Nevis wire—”

“No, Harrison,” I whispered.

Harrison froze, turning his head to stare at me in stunned disbelief. “What?”

Across the mahogany railing, Silas was watching me.

His posture was completely relaxed, his arm draped possessively around Khloe’s waist. He was waiting for me to scream. He was waiting for me to collapse, to weep, to beg for an emergency bail hearing, to initiate a three-year appellate war that would tie up his assets and keep him under judicial scrutiny.