Margaret sighed dramatically. “You’re not destroying my son’s reputation,” she said. “Sign the papers and leave quietly.”
Savannah glanced down at the document. At the top of the page: WAIVER OF CLAIMS. Even the tiny savings account she’d opened before marriage was listed as shared property.
Victor watched her reaction. “You don’t need money,” he said. “You need supervision.”
Her hand slipped into her purse, where her phone silently recorded everything. Her heart pounded so loudly she feared they could hear it.
Lawrence tapped the paper. “Sign here and we’re finished.”
Savannah looked up. “And if I don’t?”
Victor’s gaze sharpened. “Then you’ll be declared legally incompetent,” he said calmly. “You’ll lose everything. Including the right to speak.”
Outside, a car door slammed. One of Victor’s security drivers waited to escort her to an appointment she had never agreed to.
Savannah realized the trap was tightening.
Then her phone buzzed once with a message from an unknown number.
He doesn’t know I copied the videos. If you want out, leave now. Meet me at the courthouse steps.
Savannah’s blood ran cold.
If there were videos, someone inside the Langford household had proof. And if Victor discovered that… there was no telling what he would do.
She forced herself not to react.
“I need some water,” she murmured.
Margaret nodded approvingly. “Good. Sit.”
Savannah walked into the kitchen and filled a glass, glancing through the window. Victor’s black SUV idled in the driveway.
Ten minutes.
Shelter.
Courthouse.
Blue awning.
She turned around and found Derek leaning in the doorway.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked casually.
“To the bathroom.”
His eyes dropped to her purse. “You’re recording, aren’t you?”
“No.”
Derek smiled slowly. “Victor hates lies.”
Savannah’s pulse spiked, but she forced herself to stay calm.
“Tell him to read the settlement out loud,” she said quietly. “Let him hear himself.”
Derek hesitated.
Savannah slipped past him and locked herself in the powder room. Her phone was still recording. She quickly sent the audio file to the shelter advocate and to a private email account she’d created months ago.
Then she replied to the anonymous text.
Where?
The response came instantly.
Courthouse steps. Ten minutes. Gray scarf.
Savannah took a deep breath and stepped back into the living room.
Victor waited beside the papers. “Ready?”
“I’ll sign,” she said.