The door to the study slammed shut, the sound echoing through the Main House like a gunshot. On the other side, Sophie Laurent-Croft stood with her hand raised, ready to knock, but she lowered it slowly.
Inside, William was pacing, his manic energy filling the room. The custody papers from Lady Beatrice lay scattered on the desk–a declaration of war targeting the one thing William loved more than Victoria: his son, Leo.
“She’s arguing that the home is psychologically damaging,” William said, his voice tight with panic. “She’s using the bigamy. She’s using the amnesia. She’s going to take him, Malcolm. She’s going to put him in boarding school just like she did to me.”
“Sit down, William,” Malcolm Fotheringham commanded from the leather armchair. He didn’t look worried; he looked like a grandmaster analyzing a chess board.
“I can’t sit down!” William shouted. “Sophie is… Sophie is a liability in this argument. If the court sees two wives, they see chaos.”
“Then we change the narrative,” Malcolm said coolly. “We stop acting like a circus and start acting like a family.”
Outside the door, Sophie pressed her forehead against the wood. She heard her name–*liability*. She turned and walked away, the silence of the hallway amplifying the realization that in his panic, William hadn’t turned to his wife for comfort; he had turned to the brother he didn’t even know he had.