Never try to publicly humiliate the mother of your child

The sudden silence that fell over the backyard party was heavy enough to cut with a knife. Dozens of guests stopped mid-conversation, their eyes darting between Luke’s sputtering expression of shock and the impossibly handsome, statuesque man standing beside me.

Luke blinked twice behind his designer sunglasses, as if trying to clear a glitch in his own vision. He disengaged his arm from Tiffany’s grip, marched across the pristine lawn with aggressive strides, and stopped three feet away from us, his face flushing a furious, mottled red.

"What... what is this?" Luke stammered, his voice cracking slightly before he forced a high-pitched, mocking laugh. He pointed a manicured finger at Alec, looking him up and down with exaggerated condescension. "Clara, are you serious right now? You actually hired a gig-economy actor to play your sugar daddy?"

Tiffany caught up, her nose wrinkling in disdain as she sneezed against the heavy floral perfume in the air. "Oh, babe, look at him. He definitely smells like cheap cologne and rented confidence. Do you think she found him on Craigslist or a theatrical temp agency?"

A few uncomfortable titters rippled through the crowd of onlookers.

I kept my expression entirely neutral, letting the warmth of Alec’s arm beneath my fingers anchor me. I didn't have to say a single word.

Alec didn't blink. His expression remained carved from cold granite. He didn't raise his voice, nor did he flinch under Luke’s pathetic, defensive ridicule. Instead, with agonizing, deliberate slowness, Alec shifted his glass of cider into his left hand, and used his right hand to reach inside the inner breast pocket of his bespoke jacket.

He pulled out a sleek, heavy black velvet box—the kind typically reserved for high-end heirloom jewelry or federal warrants.

Alec stepped forward, invading Luke’s personal space with terrifying, dominant grace. He stopped mere inches away, towering over my ex-husband.

"Mr. Luke Vance, I presume?" Alec’s voice was a smooth, low baritone that cut through the open air like a razor blade.

Luke’s sneer faltered, replaced by a flicker of genuine unease. He swallowed hard, trying to puff out his chest. "Yeah, that's me. And who the hell are you? Clara's little rental boyfriend?"

Alec didn't smile. He offered a cold, predatory smirk that made the hairs on the back of my arms stand up.

"I'm not her boyfriend, Mr. Vance," Alec murmured, his ice-blue eyes locking onto Luke’s pupil-dilated gaze. "I'm her attorney. And I'm here representing the federal bankruptcy court, the Department of Justice, and the mother of your child."

Luke barked out a nervous, breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Federal court? Are you out of your mind? I'm an executive vice president at Sterling Logistics! I don't deal with federal courts unless I'm suing someone!"

"Correction," Alec corrected smoothly, his voice dropping an octave into a lethal, quiet register. "You were an executive vice president. Until yesterday afternoon, when your company’s internal servers were seized under an emergency RICO warrant."

Luke’s face drained of color. The smug, golden-boy facade cracked down the middle, revealing a cornered, panicked animal underneath. "That's... that's impossible. That's a bluff. You're just a glorified actor playing dress-up!"

Alec ignored Luke’s sputtering denial. With smooth, unhurried movements, he popped open the black velvet box.

Resting inside the velvet lining wasn't a piece of jewelry. It was a matte-black, federal-grade SEC-stamped flash drive, accompanied by a folded sheet of heavy cream-colored cardstock embossed with the official seal of the United States District Court.