By the time I pressed Enter, my hands were shaking harder than they ever had in front of guns, federal agents, or men planning my funeral. I had installed hidden cameras to catch my nanny hurting my eighteen-month-old twins—but what appeared on that screen made me cry for the first time since my wife died and showed me that the woman I planned to marry had been lying to me.

For three long seconds, nobody breathed.

Regina looked up at the stairs, a malicious, desperate smirk curling across her crimson lips. She realized she had nothing left to lose, so she decided to burn the house down on her way out.

“Oh, look,” Regina mocked, her voice dripping with venom as she pointed a manicured finger at Julieta. “The little spy is watching the show. Did you enjoy peeping through the keyhole, you little peasant? You think Mr. Verona cares about you? He humiliated you this morning! He made you scrub these floors like a dog! He doesn't love you, and he sure as hell isn't going to keep you around once I’m gone.”

Julieta didn't flinch. She pulled Noah a fraction closer to her hip, shielding the sleepy toddler with her own body, and looked down at Regina with a gaze so steady, so devoid of fear, that it made my heart ache.

“I didn't stay here for Mr. Verona’s approval, Miss Ashford,” Julieta said, her voice clear, resonant, and carrying through the vast foyer. “I stayed for them. Because children need someone to look at them with love, not leverage.”

The words struck me like a physical blow.

Someone to look at them with love, not leverage.

That was the difference between Catherine, between me, between Regina, and between Julieta. We viewed the world as a board game of power and protection. Julieta viewed it through the simple, radical lens of human grace.

I turned my back on Regina, leaving her standing against the mahogany banister, and began walking slowly up the grand staircase.

“Emilio, where are you going?” Regina demanded, her voice rising in sudden panic as she realized she was being dismissed. “You can't just throw me out! We have contracts! We have social obligations! The press—!”

“The press will find out that Meridian Holdings is being seized by federal marshals for corporate espionage and wire fraud by midnight,” I said without turning around, my boots clicking rhythmically against the hardwood steps. “And by morning, your name won't even be allowed within a five-mile radius of my properties.”

I reached the top landing, stopping two feet away from Julieta and my son.

Noah blinked sleepily, recognizing me, and reached out a small, chubby hand. “Daddy...”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. I knelt down on one knee, ignoring the immaculate crease of my trousers, right there on the dusty floorboards. I gently took Noah’s small hand in mine, kissing his knuckles.

Then I looked up at Julieta.

Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears, her lower lip trembling just slightly as she braced herself for whatever command I was about to issue.

“Julieta,” I whispered, my voice thick with an emotion I hadn't allowed myself to feel in years.

“Yes, Mr. Verona?” she replied softly.

“I am so sorry.”

The words felt inadequate, hollow, and painfully small compared to the cruelty I had subjected her to that morning. But they were the truest words I had spoken in a decade.

Julieta stared at me, searching my face for deceit, for manipulation, for the tyrant she had served all day. When she found only raw, unvarnished regret, the defensive tension left her shoulders.