Three weeks after Sofia's birth, everything felt perfect.
She was healthy, thriving, beautiful. Damien was an incredible father, splitting his time between the mansion and his office. I was healing from childbirth, floating in that new-mother haze of exhaustion and pure love. We were a family. We were happy.
Then the letter arrived.
It was addressed to Damien, marked "CONFIDENTIAL - LEGAL." He opened it during breakfast, and I watched his face drain of color as he read.
"What is it?" I asked, immediately terrified. "Is it about the business?"
"Nothing," he said too quickly, shoving the letter into his jacket pocket. "Just some old matter with a business partner."
But I knew him well enough now to recognize when he was lying.
That night, after Sofia was asleep and the house had gone quiet, I found him in his home office, staring at the letter again. He didn't try to hide it this time—just looked at me with an expression of complete exhaustion.
"Victoria's appealing her conviction," he said bluntly.
My stomach dropped. "What? How? She confessed to everything."
"Her new lawyer is claiming evidence tampering," Damien said, his voice cold. "He's alleging that some of the documents used to convict her were fabricated. That they don't match the chain of custody records. That the FBI may have planted evidence."
"That's absurd," I said. "We watched her commit crimes. She admitted everything."
But even as I said it, I felt a chill run down my spine. Because suddenly, my memory of Victoria's trial seemed less clear. Had there been something off about some of the evidence? Some document that appeared too convenient, too perfectly incriminating?
"Damien," I said slowly, "where did you get all that evidence against Victoria?"
He turned away from me. "The same place I got it for your father. Through my investigators."
"Your investigators," I repeated. "The ones you've been using for years. The ones who work outside the law."
"Sophia—"
"Tell me," I said, my voice hardening. "Tell me you didn't fabricate evidence against Victoria."
For a long moment, he didn't answer. And in that silence, I knew.
"Some of it may have been... enhanced," he finally admitted. "To ensure it would stick. Victoria's lawyer was very good. I wasn't sure the real evidence alone would be enough to—"
"You planted evidence?" I interrupted, my voice rising. "You actually planted evidence?"
"No," he said, turning to face me. "I enhanced real evidence. There's a difference. Victoria DID commit fraud. She DID embezzle money. I just... made sure the court would believe it."
I felt like I couldn't breathe. "What about my father? Did you enhance evidence against him too?"
Damien's jaw clenched. "Your father is guilty, Sophia. That I don't regret."
"That's not what I asked," I said coldly. "Did you plant or fabricate evidence against my father?"
"Some of the documentation was compiled in ways that might not have been admissible—"
"Oh my God," I whispered, sinking into a chair. "My father might not have actually committed all those crimes. He's in prison because of you. Because you fabricated evidence."
"Your father IS guilty," Damien said fiercely. "He destroyed my sister. He destroyed countless people. He deserved everything that happened to him."
"Not like this!" I said, standing up. "Not through lies and fabrication. You're just like them, Damien. You're just as corrupt, just as willing to destroy people for your own purposes."
"I did it for Elena," he said. "I did it for—"
"You did it for revenge," I cut him off. "You did it because you're obsessed with revenge, and I've been an idiot for not seeing it."
I left his office, my heart pounding. That night, I slept in a guest room, unable to even look at him.
---
The next morning, before Damien woke up, I called my father.
He was still in federal prison, but we'd been allowed to talk occasionally through approved channels. He answered on the third ring, surprised to hear from me.
"Sophia? Is everything okay? Is the baby—"
"Did you commit all the crimes you were convicted of?" I asked without preamble.
There was a long silence. "Sweetheart, I don't think this is a conversation—"
"Dad, please. I need to know. Did you really commit all of them?"
Another long silence. Then: "Most of them. Not all. Some of the evidence presented at trial was... questionable. My lawyer tried to get it suppressed, but the judge ruled it admissible."
My heart sank. "So you didn't commit everything they charged you with?"
"I committed enough," my father said quietly. "Enough to deserve to be here. But no, not everything."
I felt tears streaming down my face. "I need to hire you a lawyer. A really good one. We're going to file an appeal. We're going to get you out."
"Sophia, no—"
"Yes," I said fiercely. "I'm sorry for what happened to you. I'm sorry my family treated me the way they did. But I won't let you rot in prison for crimes you didn't commit. Not anymore."
After hanging up, I sat in the nursery watching Sofia sleep, my mind racing. Damien had married me, gotten me pregnant, built a life with me—all while harboring this secret. All while knowing that his "justice" was built on lies and manipulation.
I loved him. But I couldn't be with someone like that.
---
By afternoon, news broke that Victoria's appeal had been granted. A federal judge had ruled that there were "irregularities" in the evidence against her and ordered a new trial. The legal world was in upheaval.
That evening, I confronted Damien directly.
"We need to talk about what you've done," I said, my voice steady despite my turmoil. "And we need to talk about what comes next."
"What comes next is we fight this," Damien said immediately. "Victoria will lose her new trial. The evidence—"
"The fabricated evidence?" I asked. "The planted evidence? You think we can win with that?"
"It's not all fabricated," Damien insisted. "Most of it is real. I just... supplemented what I knew to be true."
"That makes you a criminal, Damien. That makes you exactly what we fought against."
"I'm not your father," he said coldly. "I didn't hurt innocent people. I punished the guilty."
"You don't get to decide who's guilty," I said. "That's for the courts. That's for a system of justice, not for your personal revenge."
"And how has your precious system of justice worked out for you?" he demanded. "Your father beat the system for years. Victoria would have too. Sometimes justice needs help."
"No," I said. "Sometimes justice means taking the hard path. It means proving guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt. It means being better than them."
I stood up, my legs shaking. "I think you should leave. Stay at a hotel until I figure out what I want to do."
"Sophia—"
"Leave," I said, my voice like ice. "Now."
---
For three days, Damien was gone. I didn't see him, didn't talk to him. I spent time with Sofia, processing everything I'd learned. Maya came to stay with me, sensing that something was wrong.
"He planted evidence?" she asked, shocked, when I finally told her.
"On multiple people," I confirmed. "My father, Victoria, probably others. He's been playing God for years, deciding who deserves punishment and fabricating the evidence to make sure they get it."
"What are you going to do?" Maya asked carefully.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I love him. But I can't be with someone like that. I can't raise Sofia with someone who thinks the ends justify the means."
On the fourth day, Damien came home. He looked like he hadn't slept, his usual immaculate appearance disheveled. He went directly to the nursery and spent hours just watching Sofia sleep.
When he finally came to find me, his expression was devastated.
"I've been thinking about what you said," he began. "And I think you're right."
I waited, not trusting myself to speak.
"I've become a monster," he continued quietly. "I've spent so many years consumed by revenge that I forgot what justice actually means. I forgot that I have to live with myself when this is all over."
He sat down heavily. "I'm going to turn myself in."
"What?" I said, shocked.
"I'm going to confess everything to the FBI," he said. "The evidence tampering, the illegal investigations, all of it. I'm going to tell them exactly what I've done and take responsibility for it."
"Damien, that means prison—"
"I know." He looked at me with eyes full of pain. "But it's the right thing to do. And if I can't do what's right, then I'm not worthy of being your husband or Sofia's father."
I stared at him, seeing the man I loved finally becoming the man he should be. But at what cost?
"What about Victoria?" I asked. "What about my father?"
"I'll recant my testimony," Damien said. "I'll tell the truth about what I did. It will likely mean your father's conviction stands—he really did commit those crimes—but Victoria will probably walk free. And I'll face the consequences."
"Damien—"
"It's time," he said quietly. "It's time for me to stop running from who I am and become who I need to be."
He stood up and pulled me into his arms. For a long moment, we just held each other, both of us crying.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into my hair. "For everything I've done. For the lies. For putting you in this position."
"I know," I said. "And I forgive you. But Damien, we can't go back to how things were. This is going to change everything."
"I know," he said. "But at least it will be honest."
The next day, Damien's lawyer accompanied him to FBI headquarters. He spent six hours in interrogation, confessing to years of crimes, fabricated evidence, and corruption.
By evening, the news had exploded across every outlet:
"DAMIEN BLACKWOOD CONFESSES TO EVIDENCE TAMPERING - MULTIPLE CASES UNDER REVIEW"
Our perfect life, built on revenge and lies, was about to come crashing down.
And this time, there was no one to blame but ourselves.