He signed the divorce papers while his pregnant wife packed one suitcase, never knowing her father could buy his empire before breakfast

had once mistaken for his soul.

After the vote, Savannah rose and walked toward him.

There was no cruelty in her posture. No victory smile. No performance.

Only clarity.

“This didn’t have to end this way,” Damian said quietly.

Savannah met his eyes.

“No,” she agreed. “It didn’t.”

He looked down.

“I’m sorry.”

She studied him for a moment.

“For what?”

The question continue reading …