My father d:ie:d, and before his funeral was even over, my husband took control of 60% of my father's $3 billion company and threw me out of the house, saying, "Without your father, you're nobody." I didn't argue. I called the family lawyer and opened the sealed envelope my father had left behind... then I heard a voice that couldn't possibly still be alive.

Three days later, the rain returned, drumming a steady, melancholic rhythm against the reinforced glass of the Albright estate in Highland Hills.

The house was completely empty. Gavin and Celina were gone, their designer clothes and expensive trinkets confiscated by federal marshals, leaving behind a hollow, echoing shell of a home.

I stood in the grand foyer, exactly where Celina had shoved me into the corner table less than a week ago. The cut on my forehead had healed into a faint pink line, a permanent reminder of the night I died and the person who rose from the ashes in my place.

The front door opened softly, and footsteps echoed across the marble floor.

I didn't turn around. I kept my gaze fixed on the large oil painting of my father hanging above the grand staircase, his stern, piercing eyes watching over the hall.

"I see you've settled back in, Naomi," a smooth, familiar voice said from behind me.

I slowly turned around.

Standing near the entrance was Arthur Pendelton, holding a sleek leather briefcase, his expression a mix of nervous calculation and practiced deference.

"Arthur," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "You're a brave man coming back here after what happened in the boardroom."

Arthur forced a thin, oily smile, stepping closer. "Come now, Naomi. Let's not be hasty. I was simply playing a survival game under Gavin's thumb. We both know the board needs an experienced hand to guide Summit Enterprises through this transition. And as your father's oldest ally—"

"My father's oldest ally," I interrupted, cutting him off mid-sentence.

I walked slowly toward him, my heels clicking sharply against the marble. Arthur’s smile faltered slightly as he noticed the cold, unblinking glare in my eyes.

"My father trusted you, Arthur," I continued, stopping just two feet away from him. "He gave you a seat at his table, a million-dollar annual retainer, and complete access to his private archives. And in return... you were the one who provided Gavin with the security blueprints of this house the night he poisoned my father's wine."

Arthur’s face drained of all color. He stepped back instinctively, his hands trembling against his briefcase. "That's... that's absurd! You have no proof!"

"Do I?"

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, encrypted flash drive—the very one Victor had decrypted from the security server in the basement.

"This contains a recorded phone call from two weeks ago between you and Arthur Vance, discussing the exact dosage of digitalis required to simulate a fatal heart attack without raising immediate suspicion at the hospital," I said quietly. "The federal marshals are already waiting in the driveway, Arthur. You won't even make it past the front gates."

Arthur stared at me, the mask of corporate arrogance completely shattering, revealing a desperate, trembling old man. He dropped his briefcase, falling to his knees on the marble floor.

"Naomi... please," he choked out, tears welling in his eyes. "Have mercy. Your father—"

"My father is dead because of greed," I whispered, looking down at him with absolute contempt. "And you helped write his death sentence."

I turned my back on him as the front doors pushed open and two federal marshals stepped inside, grabbing Arthur by the arms and dragging him out into the cold night air.

The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them, sealing the house in absolute silence once more.

I walked up the grand staircase, pausing on the landing to look out over the sprawling estate. The three-billion-dollar empire of Summit Enterprises was back where it belonged. Not in the hands of thieves, murderers, or sycophants, but under the iron rule of an Albright.

Gavin had said it best the night he threw me out into the rain: Let's see how long a princess survives without money.