He beat his pregnant wife after her lover lied about the baby not being his—but he didn't know her three brothers could ruin his life.

The caller ID on the vibrating phone read: Lucas.

Sophia’s heart hammered against her ribs, a violent rhythm that mirrored the physical ache throbbing through her entire body. Of all her brothers, Lucas was the fuse most easily lit. He was the youngest of the three boys, a brilliant cybersecurity mogul in Silicon Valley whose fierce, protective streak regarding Sophia had always bordered on obsessive.

With a shaking hand, she swiped the screen and brought the phone to her ear. She tried to swallow the lump of dry terror in her throat, intending to voice a cheerful, normal greeting.

"Hey, Luc—"

"Sophia, where the hell are you?" Lucas’s voice didn't carry its usual playful arrogance. It was flat. Cold. The kind of quiet that precedes a devastating storm.

"I'm... I'm just at home, Lucas. Getting ready for bed. It’s late, you know," she lied, her voice cracking slightly on the final syllable.

"Don't lie to me, Soph. I'm looking at your phone's GPS ping right now. You're at LA General. Room 412. I also intercepted a police dispatch log from your neighborhood twenty minutes ago. An assault call. A pregnant female. Tell me right now that Ryan didn't touch you."

Sophia closed her eyes, hot tears leaking into the sterile bandages covering her cheek. She had forgotten that to Lucas, privacy was a myth and data was a weapon. "Lucas... please. It's complicated. Ryan was... he was confused. Someone told him things."

A heavy, terrifying silence stretched across the line. When Lucas spoke again, the sheer lack of emotion in his tone made her shiver. "He touched you. He knew you were pregnant, and he touched you."

"Lucas, don't do anything crazy, please—"

"I'm already in my car, Sophia. I'm driving down from San Jose. But I'm not the one you should worry about. I've already called Ethan and Matthew. We're a three-way conference call right now, actually. They're listening."

Sophia’s breath caught. "No... please, no."

"Sophia," a new voice broke in. It was Ethan. The eldest. The billionaire real estate tycoon whose name was whispered in reverence and fear across the entire East Coast. Ethan’s voice possessed the weight of a judge passing a death sentence. "We are coming. All of us. Rest now, little sister. Your isolation ends tonight."

The call disconnected.

Sophia stared at the ceiling, a profound sense of dread mingling with an strange, long-forgotten feeling of safety. Her brothers were coming. And God help Ryan Miller, because the world was about to fall on his head.

Meanwhile, across town, Ryan sat in a dimly lit bar, nursing a glass of cheap bourbon. Vanessa sat beside him, her fingers tracing soothing circles on his arm.

"You did what any real man would do, Ryan," Vanessa purred, her eyes glittering with malice. "She was making a fool out of you. Playing the sweet nurse while sleeping with hotshot doctors. You don't need her. With her out of the picture, we can finally focus on making your shop what it deserves to be."

Ryan stared blankly into his glass. The alcohol was starting to wear off, replaced by a sickening, hollow dread. The image of Sophia folding her body around her stomach flashed behind his eyelids. He shook his head to clear it. No, he told himself, hardening his heart. She betrayed me. Vanessa saw her. Vanessa wouldn't lie to me.

Suddenly, Ryan's phone rang. It was an unknown number. He answered it, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah? Who's this?"

"Ryan Miller?" The voice on the other end was smooth, refined, and completely devoid of warmth. "My name is Matthew Bennett. I am your wife's brother."

Ryan scoffed, feeling a surge of unearned bravado. "Oh, the hotshot financial guy from San Francisco? Look, man, your sister is a liar. She’s been stepping out on me—"

"Ryan," Matthew interrupted, his tone chillingly calm. "I am currently looking at the financial portfolio of Miller’s Auto Body. You owe $142,000 in back taxes. Your primary supplier is a subsidiary of a holding company I purchased three hours ago. Your mortgage is held by a bank whose board of directors answers directly to my eldest brother, Ethan."

Ryan froze, the glass slipping slightly in his hand. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I am telling you that as of 2 A.M. Pacific Standard Time, your business is bankrupt, your suppliers have canceled all orders, and your foreclosure papers are being drafted," Matthew said, his voice as precise as a scalpel. "But that is just the math, Ryan. My brothers are currently dealing with the chemistry. Have a nice night."

The line went dead. Ryan stared at his phone, his face draining of all color.