---- Chapter 13 Anya Warner POV: The silence that followed my father' s declaration was so profound you could hear the clinking of ice in glasses from across the lawn. The guests, who moments ago were whispering with salacious glee, now stared at Hamilton and Kacey with a mixture of fear and contempt. They had picked the wrong side, and in this world, picking the wrong side was social and financial suicide. My father guided me toward the towering, multi-tiered birthday cake, his hand a warm, steady presence on my arm. He was a lion who had just publicly mauled the jackals that threatened his cub, and now he was gently leading me back to the safety of the den. He leaned in, his voice a low murmur meant only for me. "Are you alright?" | nodded, a genuine smile touching my lips for the first time that evening. "I'm better than alright." The spectacle was over. The power had been asserted. | watched as Hamilton stood frozen, his face the color of ash. He finally seemed to grasp the full, catastrophic scale of his miscalculation. He hadn't just betrayed a coder; he had betrayed a dynasty. He looked from my face to my father' s, ---- then to my rounded belly, and the last flicker of hope in his eyes died, leaving behind only the cold, hard emptiness of regret. Kacey, ever the opportunist, was already trying to salvage the situation, tugging on his arm, whispering frantically in his ear. But he didn't seem to hear her. He was trapped in a nightmare of his own making. As my father and | cut the first slice of cake, the orchestra struck up a cheerful tune, and the guests, taking their cue, broke into a round of applause and a chorus of "Happy Birthday." The party was back on, the unpleasantness swept under the rug with the brutal efficiency of the very rich. But the damage was done. Hamilton and Kacey were radioactive. | saw guests subtly steering clear of them, conversations dying as they approached. They were pariahs at the party of the year. The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur. | was introduced to world leaders, tech innovators, and artists, all of whom treated me not as a curiosity, but as an equal. As Anya Warner. My own person. As the party wound down and the last of the guests departed, | sat with my parents on a quiet terrace, sipping a cup of herbal tea. The adrenaline of the confrontation had faded, leaving behind a profound sense of peace. It was then that Marcus approached, his expression unreadable. ---- "Ma'am," he said, addressing me. "There's a situation at the front gate." My father tensed. "What is it?" "It's Hamilton Glass," Marcus said, a note of disbelief in his voice. "He tried to force his way back onto the property. He's been shot." My heart stopped "Twice," Marcus continued. "By our perimeter guards. He's still conscious. He refuses medical attention. He says... he says he won't leave until he speaks with Ms. Warner. He says he'll die on the doorstep if he has to." A heavy silence fell over the terrace. My mother looked at me, her face pale with concern. My father's expression was like granite. He turned to me. "It's your decision, Anya. | can have him removed. Permanently. You never have to see him again." | stared out at the dark ocean, the rhythmic crash of the waves a counterpoint to the frantic pounding of my own heart. A part of me wanted to say yes. To erase him from my life completely. But another part, a foolish, curious part, needed to know. Needed to see the ruin | had wrought, face to face. "I'll see him," | said, my voice barely a whisper. "Five minutes. And then he's gone for good."