I sat on the edge of the guest-house porch steps, staring at the crumpled lawsuit papers in my lap. Lucy’s signature stared back at me—sharp, elegant, accusing. Undue influence. Coercion. She claimed I’d manipulated Markus in his final months, that the will was invalid because I’d “preyed on his grief.” The shares—the future I’d started to let myself imagine for the triplets—hung by a thread.
Forgiveness felt impossible. Chase had danced with me last night, held me like I was the only thing that mattered, knotted inside me until the bond sang again. But the photos were everywhere now. Tabloids screaming about our “reunion affair.” Clients canceling meetings. Whispers following me even here on the estate. And Lucy—my own mother—turning the knife.
I wanted to hate him for letting this star
