Chapter 3

Diane arrived at eleven that night with two suitcases, a laptop, and the expression of a woman ready to commit arson.

"Tell me everything," she said, dropping onto my bed while I paced the room.

So I did. The cemetery. Isabelle's voice. Lucian's words. Every poisoned syllable.

Diane didn't interrupt. She just listened, jaw tightening with every sentence. When I finished, she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly through her nose.

"Okay," she said. "First—are you sure it was her?"

"I know what Isabelle looks like, Di. Her face is in every room of this house."

"And he said he's getting rid of you?"

"By the end of the week." My voice cracked on the last word.

Diane stood and gripped my shoulders. "Then we move faster. You're not going to sit here and wait to be discarded like a used napkin."

"But Iris—"

"Iris loves you," Diane said firmly. "But Iris is not your legal child. If Lucian decides to remove you from this house, you have no custody rights. None. The contract made sure of that."

The truth of it burned. I'd known it all along—buried it under lullabies and bedtime stories and the delusion that love would be enough.

"So what do I do?" I whispered.

Diane opened her laptop. "First, we secure your finances. How much has he paid you under the contract?"

"He stopped paying after the first year," I admitted, ashamed. "He said since I was living in the house and had access to his accounts for household expenses, the salary was redundant. I didn't argue."

Diane stared at me. "Solace. You worked for free for two years."

"I wasn't working. I was—" I stopped. What was I doing? Raising his child. Managing his home. Warming his bed on the rare nights he reached for me in the dark, half-asleep, probably imagining someone else.

"You were a wife," Diane said quietly. "In every way that mattered. And he owes you for that."

She pulled up legal databases, scrolling rapidly. "Second—we find out how Isabelle is alive. Because if she faked her death, there are legal consequences. Insurance fraud. Identity fraud. And if Lucian knew—"

"He couldn't have known," I said. "He was devastated after she died. I watched him fall apart."

"Or he performed devastation very well," Diane countered.

That thought made my stomach turn.

We worked until 3 a.m. Diane found something—a sealed police report from the accident three years ago. The body recovered from the crash had been badly burned. Identification was done through dental records and a statement from Lucian.

"No DNA confirmation," Diane murmured. "That's unusual for someone of his wealth."

"What does that mean?"

"It means either he was too grief-stricken to think clearly... or he didn't want anyone looking too closely."

I sat on the edge of the bed, head spinning. "If she faked her death, why come back now?"

Diane looked at me. "Think about it. Three years ago, Isabelle disappeared. Lucian got full custody of Iris. The maternal grandparents lost their case. The Kade estate consolidated. And now—"

"Now the inheritance lock expires," I breathed.

Diane nodded. "Iris's trust fund activates when she turns three. Sixty million dollars, managed by her legal parents. If Isabelle returns as the biological mother—"

"She gets access to the money."

"And you get thrown out."

The room felt smaller. The walls pressing in.

"There's something else," Diane said carefully. "I pulled the property records for this house. It was originally in Isabelle's family name. If she's legally alive, she can reclaim it."

"So I lose the house too."

"You lose everything, Solace. Unless you fight."

I looked toward Iris's room down the hall. The nightlight glowed softly under her door.

"I can't fight him," I said. "He has armies of lawyers. He has money. He has power. I have nothing."

Diane closed the laptop slowly. "You have something he doesn't."

"What?"

"The truth. And you have me." She reached into her bag and pulled out a business card. "My cousin Marcus. Best family attorney on the East Coast. He hates billionaires and loves underdogs. He'll take your case pro bono if I ask."

I took the card with trembling hands.

"Solace," Diane said, voice low and fierce. "You gave that man three years of your life. You raised his daughter. You kept his house. You held yourself together while he worshipped a ghost. You deserve more than a quiet exit."

I swallowed hard.

She leaned forward. "So the question is—are you going to leave on his terms? Or yours?"

I looked at the card again. Then at Iris's door.

Then I straightened my spine.

"Mine."

Diane smiled. "Good. Now—start packing. But only what's yours. Don't take a single thing he gave you. When you walk out that door, you walk out clean."

I nodded and opened my closet. Most of what hung there was bought with his money—designer dresses for charity galas where I stood three feet behind him, smiling at people who didn't know my name.

I pushed them aside and found the one bag I'd brought with me three years ago. Inside: two changes of clothes, my mother's locket, and my college diploma.

That was all I had when I arrived.

That was all I'd take when I left.

But as I zipped the bag, my phone buzzed.

Lucian: Come to my study. Now.

My heart stopped.

Diane looked at me. "Go. But record everything."

I slipped my phone into my pocket, pressed record, and walked down the hall.

When I opened the study door, Lucian sat behind his mahogany desk, a glass of scotch in his hand. But he wasn't alone.

Sitting across from him, legs crossed, wearing a white dress and a diamond necklace I recognized from the portrait above the fireplace—

Was Isabelle.

She turned to me with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"So," she said sweetly. "You're Solace. I've heard so much about you."

Lucian didn't look at me.

"Sit down," he said. "We need to discuss your termination."

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