William sat behind his desk in the manor’s library, the lawsuit Silas had served lying open before him.
Lady Beatrice stood by the fireplace, looking pleased. “It is perfect, William. The girl is penniless. She is hearing voices. She is visibly unstable. We have all the ammunition we need.”
She tapped her cane on the floor. “I have instructed our legal team to draft a motion for sole custody. We will use her uncle’s lawsuit as proof of her chaotic background and the ‘hallucinations’ as proof of psychosis. Once the baby is born, we will petition to have her institutionalized. You will have the heir, and the problem will be removed.”
William looked down at the papers. He thought of Victoria screaming about the music. He thought of Silas grinning like a wolf.
But mostly, he thought of last night. He felt the phantom weight of her body against his chest. He remembered her terror in the dark, and how she had clung to *him*, not Dominic, for safety.
She wasn’t crazy. She was being hunted.
William stood up. He picked up the motion Beatrice’s lawyers had drafted.
“No,” he said quietly.
“Excuse me?” Beatrice turned, her eyes narrowing.
“She isn’t hallucinating, Grandmother,” William said, his voice hardening into steel. “And I will not use her poverty as a weapon. She is my wife. And she is the mother of my child.”
He ripped the motion in half. Then he ripped it again.
“William!” Beatrice snapped. “You are being sentimental. You are risking the legacy!”
“I am protecting the legacy,” William retorted, throwing the confetti of paper onto the desk. “Because if you or Cynthia touch her again, I will burn this house down with all of us inside.”
He picked up the phone and dialed his personal assistant. “Get me the number for Marcus Thorne. And fire the family attorney. I need someone who answers only to me.”
He hung up and looked at his grandmother. “Victoria stays. And we are going to fight her uncle. Together.”