The billionaire told everyone he was flying to Canada.

"What does it look like, Victoria?" Julian asked. His voice wasn't loud anymore. It was worse. It was hollow, completely drained of warmth, like dry leaves scraping over concrete.

"I—she asked me to push her!" Victoria stammered, her fingers frantically twisting her five-carat platinum wedding ring. "Evelyn wanted some sun! The brake must have slipped! You know how slippery those tiles get when the morning dew—"

"The tiles are dry," Leo said from the doorway, stepping into the sunlight. His thumb stayed resting on the remote’s pause button. "And you didn't roll her gently, Tori. You gave her a two-handed shove and ran back inside like you were setting a fuse."

"You shut up, you little brat!" Victoria snapped, her polite Beverly Hills facade peeling away in ugly strips. "You've hated me since the day your father put a ring on my finger! You hacked that footage! You edited it!"

"He's eighteen, Victoria, not an IT team for the Pentagon," Julian muttered. He stepped toward his wife. Julian Vance was a self-made logistics mogul. He didn't build a four-hundred-million-dollar empire by being an idiot, but when it came to his trophy wife of eighteen months, he had been blind, deaf, and dumb. Until right now.

Elena quietly walked back to Evelyn’s side. She knelt down, shielding the elderly woman with her body. Evelyn reached down, her frail, paper-thin fingers wrapping around Elena’s wrist with surprising strength. The old woman looked into Elena’s eyes, and for the first time in months, Evelyn’s gaze wasn't vacant. It was terrified. And furious.

"Julian, baby, listen to me," Victoria cooed, trying to grab his forearm. "Think about this. Why would I do that? I love your mother! I spend all day planning her organic meals, driving her to physical therapy—"

"Elena does that," Leo interrupted again, merciless. "You haven't driven Grandma anywhere except to the probate lawyer's office last Tuesday."

Julian’s eyes narrowed instantly. "What did you just say?"

Victoria lunged toward Leo, but Julian caught her by the wrist. His grip wasn't gentle.

"What probate lawyer, Victoria?" Julian demanded. "My mother’s estate has been locked in an irrevocable trust since Dad died in twenty-twelve. Nobody touches it."

Victoria swallowed hard. Her throat clicked. "Nothing! Leo's making things up! We went to lunch, Julian! We had cobb salads at the Bel-Air Country Club!"

"Grandma doesn't eat salad, Dad. She’s on a pureed diet," Leo said calmly. He pulled an iPhone from his pocket, tapping the screen twice. "And you left your iPad open on the kitchen island this morning. You didn't log out of your cloud account. Want me to read the email from Henderson & Vance LLP, or should I just mirror it to the TV screen?"

Victoria’s eyes darted toward the pool, then to the exit gate, then back to Julian. The panic in her eyes was turning into feral, cornered-animal desperation.

"You don't understand the pressure I'm under!" she hissed, trying to wrench her arm free. "You work eighty hours a week! I'm stuck here playing nursemaid to a vegetable while your bank accounts sit frozen in legal limbo!"

"My mother is not a vegetable," Julian growled, his knuckles white.

"She doesn't even know what year it is!" Victoria yelled, completely dropping the act. "She's eighty-two! She's had her life! Do you know what happens to the trust if she passes before the fiscal restructuring in November? Everything reverts to you, Julian! To us! No more stipends! No more waiting around for an old woman to stop breathing!"

The words hung in the warm morning air like toxic smog.

Julian stared at her as if he were seeing a demon wearing his wife's skin. He slowly let go of her wrist, stepping back in pure revulsion.

"Get out," Julian whispered.

Victoria sneered. "Excuse me?"

"Get your bags. Get your jewelry. Get off my property before I dial the district attorney's direct line."

Victoria didn't cry now. A cold, bitter smile spread across her red lips. She crossed her arms, standing tall on her heels.

"You can't throw me out, Julian," she said smoothly. "We signed a prenuptial agreement, remember? Clause fourteen. If this marriage dissolves under accusations of gross misconduct, there has to be an official police investigation and a sixty-day remediation period before I vacate the marital residence. You kick me out today, and my lawyers will freeze every single one of your operating accounts by noon tomorrow."

She took a slow step toward Julian, tapping her long crimson nail against his chest.

"Call the cops, darling. Go ahead. Let's see what happens to your company's stock when the papers print that Julian Vance's wife is being investigated for elder abuse. You think your board of directors will let you keep the CEO chair after that circus?"

Julian stood frozen, trapped in his own gilded cage.