I stormed into Tessa’s penthouse that same night, the files clutched in my fist like a weapon. The woman I had planned to marry was lounging on the couch in silk robes, scrolling through wedding venue photos on her tablet. She looked up with that same practiced smile she’d worn in the car.

“Darling, you’re late. I was just finalizing the guest list—”

“Shut up.”

My voice was ice. I threw the folder onto the coffee table. Papers spilled everywhere — payment records, the witness statement, the birth certificates.

Tessa’s face drained of color. For the first time since I’d known her, she looked genuinely afraid.

“Rowan… let me explain.”