I wanted him to love Evelyn.
Not the daughter of Jonathan and Vivienne Ashford.
Adrian loved what he thought he could control.
By noon, my hospital room had turned into a quiet command center.
A private nurse appeared. Then a security consultant. Then a woman named Mara Devereux, my father’s chief legal strategist, who had silver hair, a black suit, and the expression of a blade.
She placed a tablet on my lap.
“Mrs. Vale,” she said.
“Evelyn,” I corrected softly.
“Evelyn.” She nodded. “We have preliminary findings.”
My mother leaned against the windowsill. My father stood near the bassinets.
Mara tapped the screen.
“Your marital home was transferred yesterday morning to an LLC created twelve days ago. The LLC is controlled by Celeste Monroe through a nominee director.”
I felt my stomach drop. “So he really did it.”
“He attempted to.” Mara’s mouth barely moved. “The property cannot legally be transferred without your consent. The deed was filed using a notarized spousal waiver.”
