32 Weeks Pregnant, I Watched My Husband Bring His Mistress to Christmas—Then I Said, “Since You Brought Someone, I Brought Someone Too.”

Upstairs, the heavy mahogany double doors of the ballroom burst open with a resounding crash that cut the string quartet off mid-measure.

Sixty guests turned in unison, glasses of champagne frozen halfway to their lips.

Charles Dre stood at the center of the room, his hand resting on his walking cane, his face clouding with confusion. "What is the meaning of—"

He stopped.

Marching into the ballroom were six armed state troopers in full tactical gear, led by two plainclothes detectives who immediately flanked the exits. Behind them, being marched in heavy steel handcuffs, was Fiona Vale. Her ivory designer gown was torn, blackened with grease and soot, her wrist crudely wrapped in a blood-soaked emergency tourniquet.

A collective gasp swept through the high-society crowd. Women recoiled; men stepped back, murmuring in shock.

Right behind them, dragging his feet, his head hanging in total disgrace, was Matthias Dre.

His tuxedo jacket was gone. His white shirt was torn, stained with dirt and gasoline, his wrists bound tightly behind his back in zip-ties. Two troopers held him by the elbows, steering him forward like a common felon.

"Matthias?!" Charles gasped, his voice cracking with horror. He took two unsteady steps forward, his cane trembling against the parquetry floor. "What is this?! What have you done?!"

Matthias couldn't look his father in the eye. He stared at the polished floorboards, tears and sweat carving clean tracks through the soot on his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Father... I'm so sorry..."

Before Charles could speak, the doors parted one final time.

Four paramedics rolled an emergency gurney into the grand hall. Lying upon it, an oxygen mask over her face, an IV line already taped to the back of her hand, was me.

"Serena!" Charles cried out, completely ignoring his disgraced son and hobbling toward the gurney with tears springing to his aged eyes. "Dear God, Serena! What happened to you?!"

I pulled the oxygen mask down with a trembling hand, looking up at the man who had treated me like a daughter when his own son had treated me like an obstacle.

"Charles," I whispered, my voice weak but steady enough for the front row of the Hensley board to hear every word. "Your son didn't bring Fiona here to celebrate your merger. He brought her here to burn your house to the ground with you inside it."

A stunned, suffocating silence fell over the room.

"The documents are in the trunk of my car," I continued, looking toward Detective Mercer, who stood beside the gurney. "The wire transfers. The offshore shell accounts. The floor plans. Matthias sold your life for an insurance payout to cover his embezzlement."

Charles turned slowly toward Matthias. The frail old man seemed to age twenty years in five seconds, but his eyes hardened into flint. He raised his cane, pointing the silver tip directly at Matthias’s chest.

"You are no son of mine," Charles said, his voice quiet, vibrating with an ancient, unforgiving rage that silenced the entire mansion. "Take him out of my sight. Take them both."

As the troopers hauled Matthias and Fiona toward the waiting cruisers in the blizzard outside, the paramedics lifted my gurney toward the front doors.

A massive contraction seized my abdomen, and I cried out, gripping the side rail of the stretcher.

"Hold on, Serena," Mercer said softly, walking beside me into the freezing night air. "The escort is ready. We have five cruisers clearing the highway all the way to Greenwich Hospital."

"The baby..." I gasped, snow stinging my burning face as the sirens began to wail.