"Clean it up," Maya said quietly.
Vivian froze, staring at the little girl.
Heavy footsteps echoed on the front porch. The front doors, which Marcus had left unlocked, swung open. Four uniformed police officers stepped into the foyer, flanked by Marcus's lead security director.
"Vivian Cole?" the lead officer asked, stepping into the living room.
Vivian didn't answer. She was trembling so violently she could barely stand.
"You are under arrest for suspicion of felony wire fraud and grand larceny," the officer said, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. "Turn around and place your hands behind your back."
"Marcus!" Vivian shrieked, the sound tearing from her throat as the officers closed in. "You can't do this! I'm your wife!"
Marcus didn't move. He stood perfectly still, watching as the officers turned her around, pulled her arms back, and locked the cuffs over the sleeves of her luxurious silk robe.
"You're a thief," Marcus said coldly. "And you're a bully. Get her out of my house."
The officers guided Vivian forward. She stumbled over the shattered glass, her bare feet slipping on the spilled wine, her elegant posture entirely broken. She was sobbing uncontrollably as they marched her out the front door, down the steps, and out into the cold rain toward the waiting cruisers.
The heavy doors closed behind them, shutting out the flashing lights.
The house was suddenly very quiet.
Marcus let out a long, slow breath. The cold, corporate exterior he had maintained for the last twenty minutes finally cracked, leaving only the exhausted father underneath.
He walked over to the TV and turned it off. Then he turned to Maya.
The little girl was still standing in the oversized maid's uniform, staring at the spot where Vivian had been arrested.
Marcus knelt down in front of her again. He didn't care about the spilled wine or the shattered glass. He reached out and gently rested his hands on her shoulders.
"It's over," Marcus said softly. "She's gone. She is never, ever coming back."
Maya looked at him, her dark eyes searching his face for any sign of a lie. When she found none, the tension that had held her small body rigid for six months finally broke. She collapsed forward, burying her face in his chest, sobbing not from fear, but from an overwhelming, profound relief.
Marcus wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in her hair.
"Tomorrow, we're going shopping," Marcus whispered into her ear. "We're going to throw that uniform in the fireplace. And then I'm going to take a month off. Just you and me."
Maya sniffled, pulling back slightly to look at him. "Can we... can we get Mom's pictures out of the drawer?"
Marcus smiled, his eyes shining with unshed tears.
"We're going to put them in every single room of this house," he promised.
He stood up, taking his daughter's hand—careful not to squeeze her bandaged fingers—and led her away from the mess on the floor. They walked up the grand staircase together, leaving the spilled wine, the broken glass, and the memory of the cruel woman far behind them.