The radio DJ praised Julian’s exclusive engagement single with the Croft heiress. I froze. The melody was the lullaby I wrote for our miscarried child. I rushed to the studio, only finding my access wiped and a legal gag order waiting. He had stolen my deepest grief to finance his nine-figure corporate marriage. Standing in the shadows of their global merger broadcast, my finger hovered over the console's manual override. Hijacking the audio meant brutally exposing my private miscarriage trauma to millions of viewers. It would permanently annihilate the last illusion of my six-year relationship. Onstage, Julian smiled beside Seraphina, signaling the control room to play the track. I held my breath, clutching the decrypted recording of him calling my dead baby's requiem tear-jerking enough to secure his deal. I waited for his pen to touch the contract.