---- Chapter 11 Anya Warner POV: The uproarious laughter was a balm to my soul. Dante Mullen, his face a thunderous shade of crimson, simply turned on his heel and stalked out of the room without another word. The sound of his ego deflating was almost audible. Sierra threw an arm around my shoulder. "That was brilliant!" she cheered. "I've been waiting five years for someone to put that arrogant jerk in his place." She looked at me, her eyes shining with admiration. "Welcome to the club, Anya. Officially. I'm calling dibs on being your lead engineer when you build your own team." | looked at her open, friendly face, and for the first time since Kacey's betrayal, | felt a flicker of trust. The wounds were still raw, the instinct to keep everyone at arm's length still strong. But looking around at the smiling, supportive faces in the room, | decided to take a chance. | smiled back. "It's a deal." The rest of the day was a whirlwind of introductions, technical debates, and collaborative brainstorming. It was exhilarating. | was in my element, my mind firing on all cylinders, the cobwebs of the last seven years being blown away. | felt alive. ---- When | got home that evening, | found my father waiting for me in the sprawling garden overlooking the sea. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and purple. "You look happy," he said, his voice soft. "l am," | admitted, sinking into the cushioned seat of a large swing. | gently pushed off with my feet, the motion soothing. | felt the baby give a little flutter, as if sharing my contentment. My father sat in the swing next to mine. "Good. That's all I've ever wanted for you." He was quiet for a moment, watching the waves. "Your birthday is next month," he said finally. "Your twenty-eighth. | want to throw you a party. A proper one." | stilled. A birthday party. | couldn't remember the last time I'd celebrated my birthday. In the orphanage, it was just another day. With Hamilton, my birthday was always an afterthought, usually overshadowed by a product launch or a board meeting. "l want to officially introduce you to the world," my father continued, his voice gaining strength. "As Anya Warner. My daughter. My heir. | want them to see you, not as some footnote in Hamilton Glass's story, but as the brilliant, powerful woman you are. It's time they all knew who you are." His words were a declaration. This wasn't just a party; it was a coronation. A statement to the world, and a direct challenge to anyone who had ever underestimated me. It was a way of reclaiming my own narrative. ---- A part of me, the part that had lived in the shadows for so long, shied away from the spotlight. But another, newer part of me, the part that had faced down Dante Mullen and felt the pure joy of being respected for my own merits, knew he was right. | was done hiding. | placed a hand on my growing belly. | wasn't just fighting for myself anymore. | was fighting for my child's future. For the legacy | would build for them. "Okay, Dad," | said, my voice firm with newfound resolve. "Let's throw a party." He beamed, his face lighting up with a pride that was more precious to me than all the fortune in the world. "That's my girl." The preparations for the party began immediately, a massive undertaking orchestrated with the precision of a military campaign. While my mother tutored me in the fine art of navigating high society, | spent my days at The Apex Club, collaborating on new projects and quietly laying the groundwork for my own tech company. | was building my future, line by line, just as | had always done. Only this time, | was building it for myself. The day of the party arrived. The estate was transformed into a glittering wonderland. Hundreds of guests, a veritable who's who of the global elite, mingled on the vast lawns. The air buzzed with speculation. Everyone knew Fred Warner was introducing his heir, but no one knew who it was. ---- | stood on the balcony, looking down at the crowd. | saw him almost immediately. Hamilton. He was standing with Kacey, her arm possessively linked through his. He looked thinner, his face drawn and haunted. He was scanning the crowd, a desperate, searching look in his eyes. He was looking for me. A bitter smile touched my lips. He had no idea he was a guest at his own funeral. As the sun set, my father stepped up to a microphone on the main stage. The crowd fell silent. "Thank you all for coming," he began, his voice booming across the lawn. "For twenty years, my life has had a single purpose: to find my daughter. Tonight, that search is over." He turned, his eyes finding mine on the balcony. He smiled. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my profound honor to introduce you to my daughter, my heart, and the sole heir to the Warner legacy... Anya Warner." A spotlight hit me. A thousand pairs of eyes turned in my direction. | took a deep breath, smoothed down the silk of my gown, and began my descent down the grand staircase, stepping out of the shadows and into the light.