Chapter 4

Julia Warren POV:

Sleep didn't come easily that night. My mind was a whirlwind of images: the glint of my father's watch on Kenda's wrist, Cameron's panicked face, the shattered ivory king. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them, heard them, felt the cold burn of their betrayal.

Around 3 AM, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Cameron.

"Julia, darling. What happened tonight was a misunderstanding. We were both emotional. I love you. We can fix this. Just come home."

I reread the words, my lip curling in disgust. We can fix this. He was already trying to gaslight me, trying to revert to his usual manipulative charm. He had no idea the game had changed.

I didn't reply. Instead, I opened my banking app. With a few swift taps, I transferred a significant sum from Cameron's personal account, which was linked to mine, to an anonymous charity account. Then I froze all his credit cards, linked to accounts I paid for. He wouldn't even be able to buy coffee in the morning without my consent.

Next, I opened a new browser window. I typed "report stolen property" into the search bar. My father's watch. I filed a detailed report, specifying the unique design and the prototype status. Let Kenda explain that to the police.

A tiny, grim satisfaction flickered within me. It was a small act, a mere skirmish in the war I was about to wage, but it felt good. A taste of what was to come.

Then, I turned my attention to Kenda. I pulled up her public social media profiles. She was, as Gunner would undoubtedly confirm, an open book. Carefully curated photos of "humanitarian work" mixed with glamorous selfies. Pictures of her "struggling single mother" life, complete with three smiling children.

I scrolled through, my gaze detached, clinical. Nothing immediately stood out until I saw a video posted about six months ago. Kenda, laughing, holding a baby on her hip. A little boy, maybe a year old, with dark curls and bright, mischievous eyes.

And then, in the background, out of frame for a moment, Cameron walked in. He scooped up the baby, tickling its tummy, and the child giggled joyfully, reaching for Cameron's face. Cameron's smile was genuine, unguarded, full of a warmth I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

The caption beneath the video read: "My amazing Cameron, always such a doting father to Leo. Best daddy in the world!"

My breath hitched. The screen blurred. Leo. One of Kenda's "three children." And "best daddy in the world."

A cold, visceral shock ripped through me. I wasn't just infertile, as he'd made me believe. I was completely ignorant. He wasn't infertile either. He was a father. With her.

My stomach lurched. The room spun. All those years, all those doctors, all those painful procedures, the crushing disappointment, the quiet shame I carried-it was all a lie. A cruel, elaborate, monstrous lie. He had allowed me to believe I was broken, all while building a family with another woman.

The phone rang, sharply cutting through my disorienting spiral. It was Gunner. I answered, my voice still trembling slightly.

"Ms. Warren," Gunner's voice was grave. "I'm at the office. You need to come in. It's worse than we thought."

"Worse?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. How could it be worse than this?

"Yes, ma'am. Much worse. I've uncovered some... deeply disturbing information regarding your medical history and his."

My heart pounded. I knew. I already knew.

"I'm on my way," I said, my voice hardening with each word. The shock faded, replaced by a searing, white-hot rage.

I dressed in my sharpest power suit, the black fabric feeling like armor. My face in the mirror was pale, but my eyes, usually cool and analytical, now burned with a terrifying resolve. This wasn't about pain anymore. This was about justice. My justice.

The drive to Warren Enterprises headquarters was a blur. The towering glass and steel monolith, a testament to my family's power, loomed against the pre-dawn sky. I walked through the silent, empty corridors, my heels echoing like gunshots.

Gunner was waiting in my private conference room, surrounded by monitors displaying an overwhelming amount of data. Files were stacked neatly on the polished table. He looked grim.

"Ms. Warren," he began, gesturing to a seat. "I have the full preliminary report."

He pushed a thick file towards me. On top was a faded photograph. It was Cameron, much younger, smiling, his arm around a woman. Kenda. She looked younger too, but unmistakably her. They were standing in front of a church, decorated for a wedding.

"They were married?" I asked, my voice flat.

"They were," Gunner confirmed. "Eight years ago. Before he met you. They divorced shortly after, but remained... close."

My head reeled. Eight years ago. He was married to her before me. And he had children with her. Children he had claimed as Kenda's "struggle" to appeal for foundation funds.

"The embezzlement?" I asked, cutting to the chase.

Gunner nodded. "Extensive. He's been siphoning off funds for years through a network of shell companies, all linked to Kenda's 'charitable' initiatives. It's systematic fraud, Ms. Warren. Millions."

Millions. My family's money. My father's legacy. He hadn't just stolen my peace; he had stolen from the very empire I was entrusted to protect.

"And my medical records?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. This was the one that truly mattered.

Gunner pushed another file across the table. It was thin, but it held the heaviest weight. "We found something else, Ms. Warren. This is a record from a fertility clinic, dated a month before you and Mr. Roman started trying to conceive."

I opened the folder. My eyes scanned the cold, clinical language. "Patient: Cameron Roman. Procedure: Vasectomy."

The words swam before my eyes. A vasectomy. Before we even started trying.

The world stopped. The air left my lungs.

"He paid off a doctor," Gunner explained, his voice gentle, "to falsify his records, to confirm an 'infertility crisis' on his end, while subtly manipulating your own doctors to suggest 'unexplained infertility' in you. And the vitamins you were taking? We analyzed them. They contained a substance that could mimic certain hormonal imbalances, making your test results erratic."

I slumped back in my chair, the papers falling from my numb fingers. He hadn't just lied. He had actively sabotaged me. He had orchestrated my pain, my hope, my despair, all for his own twisted ends. He wanted me to believe I was broken, infertile, while he secretly had children with another woman.

My grief, my shame, my anger-it all coalesced into a cold, hard knot in my chest. There were no tears left. Only a terrifying clarity.

"Where is he now?" I asked, my voice low, dangerous.

Gunner checked his tablet. "He's at the annual Tech Philanthropy Gala. He's about to receive the 'Humanitarian of the Year' award."

A slow, chilling smile spread across my face. Humanitarian of the Year. The irony was exquisite.

"Prepare the car, Gunner," I said, standing up, my posture straighter, my resolve unbreakable. "And make sure those files, every single one of them, are loaded onto a secure presentation system. I want them displayed for everyone to see."

Gunner looked at me, a flicker of something akin to admiration in his stoic eyes. "Understood, Ms. Warren. What's the plan?"

"The plan," I said, my voice like steel, "is to expose him. To dismantle his life, piece by piece, in front of the very people he sought to impress. Tonight, Cameron Roman will learn the true meaning of consequences."

I picked up the file with the vasectomy record, clutching it like a weapon. "Tonight, his carefully constructed world burns."