"Say it isn't true." Julian's voice, when it finally came, was low and unsteady in a way Renata had genuinely never heard from him before — not in two years of careful management, not through a single argument she had ever successfully redirected. "Renata. Look at me and tell me my daughter isn't actually Camille's daughter." "Julian, please, let's talk about this calmly, in private, you're scaring—" "TELL ME IT ISN'T TRUE." The words tore out of him with a force that made both Sophia and Renata go still, the baby stirring faintly in the crib at the sudden noise. Renata's mouth opened, some final practiced denial forming on her tongue, but nothing came out. There was nothing left to say that two years of careful lying hadn't already exhausted. That silence was its own confession, and Julian read it as clearly as if she'd spoken. He crossed the room before Renata could react, his hand closing around her arm with a force that made her cry out, propelling her backward until she hit the heavy wooden wardrobe hard enough to crack one of its panels, the impact knocking a framed photo from its surface to shatter against the floor. "Julian!" Sophia's voice cut through the room, sharp with alarm, one hand instinctively moving to shield the crib. "Julian, that's not — this isn't the way to—" But Julian didn't seem to hear her. He had Renata pinned against the cracked wardrobe, his bloodshot eyes inches from hers, two years of a stolen life collapsing into a single, furious moment.