Chapter 3
I had never seen my father look so angry.
Not when a business partner stole from him.
Not when someone threatened one of his hotels.
Not even when I was seventeen and crashed his favorite car.
But that night, standing in the ballroom with fraudulent paperwork in his hand, his anger was almost frightening.
"Serena," he said carefully, "when was the last time you signed any financial documents for Adrian?"
I struggled to remember.
"About two months ago."
"What were they?"
"Insurance forms. He said we needed to update the beneficiary information before the baby arrived."
Adrian's head snapped toward me.
"That's exactly what they were!"
My father looked at him.
"Then you should have no objection to an independent examination."
Margaret pushed forward.
"This is outrageous!"
Dad ignored her.
He showed me the first page.
I recognized the address immediately.
Our house.
The white-columned property where Adrian and I had planned to raise our daughter.
The home I had decorated with my own hands.
The nursery was already finished.
Soft yellow walls.
A white wooden crib.
A rocking chair beside the window.
And tiny clothes folded inside a dresser.
I had imagined bringing my daughter home there.
Now my father was telling me someone had tried to take it.
"The house is held through the marital property trust," he explained. "Your consent is required for this transfer."
I stared at the signature.
It looked like mine.
But the final curve was wrong.
I had learned to sign my name at fourteen by copying my mother's elegant handwriting.
She died when I was nineteen.
That distinctive curve was something I had never changed.
"This isn't my signature."
Dad nodded.
"I know."
Adrian stepped forward.
"Serena, you're confused."
I turned toward him.
"Do you think I don't know my own handwriting?"
"You're emotional."
I laughed bitterly.
"There it is again."
"What?"
"Every time I ask a question you don't want to answer, you tell me I'm emotional."
"Because you're making accusations!"
"My signature is on a document I never signed!"
He looked away.
And suddenly, I remembered something.
Three weeks earlier, Adrian had insisted I give his mother access to our study.
She claimed she needed a quiet place to organize Bianca's wedding invitations.
I had found her there one afternoon standing beside our filing cabinet.
When I asked what she was doing, she said she had been looking for printer paper.
I had believed her.
I had believed all of them.
"Dad," I whispered, "Margaret had access to our documents."
Margaret's expression froze.
"Don't be absurd."
"You were in our study."
"Because you gave me permission!"
"To use the desk. Not to search our files."
She stepped closer.
"You're trying to destroy this family."
I looked at her.
"No. I'm finally seeing it clearly."
A woman entered behind my father.
She wore a charcoal pantsuit and carried a slim leather briefcase.
"Serena."
I recognized her immediately.
"Olivia?"
Olivia Grant was my father's longtime attorney.
She had known me since I was a teenager.
She hugged me carefully.
"I'm sorry you're going through this."
Then she looked toward the officers.
"We have a possible forgery and attempted fraudulent transfer. We can provide the original documents and the relevant correspondence."
One officer nodded.
"We'll need a formal statement."
"I'll cooperate," I said.
Adrian looked horrified.
"You're going to involve police in our marriage?"
I stared at him.
"Your sister already did."
He had no answer.
A hotel medic approached and asked whether I could sit down.
I suddenly realized how badly my legs were shaking.
My father guided me into a chair.
The medic checked my blood pressure and asked several questions.
I told her about my stumble when Margaret tore my dress.
She recommended immediate evaluation at the hospital because of the incident and my advanced pregnancy.
I looked toward Dad.
He nodded.
"We're going."
But before we could leave, Nathan approached.
His wedding ring was still shining on his hand.
Bianca stood several feet behind him, crying angrily.
"Serena," he said, "I owe you an apology."
"You didn't do anything."
"I should have spoken up sooner."
He glanced at Bianca.
"She told me something yesterday."
Bianca shouted.
"Nathan, shut up!"
He ignored her.
"She said the wedding would be the beginning of a new chapter for the Blackwood family."
I frowned.
"That sounds normal."
"She also said that after tonight, Adrian wouldn't have to worry about Serena interfering with their financial plans."
The air seemed to disappear from the room.
I looked at Adrian.
"What financial plans?"
He stared at Nathan.
"You're misunderstanding everything."
Nathan shook his head.
"I remember her words."
Bianca began sobbing.
"You're ruining our wedding!"
Nathan turned toward her.
"You accused an innocent pregnant woman of stealing."
"She's not innocent!"
He looked stunned.
"Then tell me what she did."
Bianca opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
My father touched my shoulder.
"Enough for tonight. Your health comes first."
I wanted answers.
I wanted every lie dragged into the light.
But when I stood, a sudden tightness moved across my stomach.
I froze.
Dad noticed instantly.
"Serena?"
I pressed my hand against my belly.
"It's probably nothing."
Another tightening sensation followed.
The medic stepped closer.
"We need to take you in."
Adrian rushed toward me.
"Serena, are you okay?"
I recoiled.
"Please don't."
His face crumpled.
"I'm her father."
I stared at him.
"Then start acting like someone she can trust."
My father supported me while Marcus cleared a path through the guests.
As we passed Margaret, she leaned close enough for only me to hear.
"You think your father's money makes you powerful?"
I stopped.
She smiled coldly.
"Money won't save your marriage."
I looked directly into her eyes.
"It might not."
Then I glanced at my husband.
"But I'm not sure there's a marriage left to save."
Outside, an ambulance waited near the hotel's private entrance.
The night air felt cold against my face.
My father climbed in beside me.
He held my hand while the paramedic checked my vital signs.
For the first time that evening, I felt a little safer.
But as the ambulance started moving, my phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unfamiliar number.
I opened it.
There was one photograph.
Adrian standing beside Margaret inside our study.
On the desk lay the same property documents my father had just shown me.
Beneath the picture was a message.
"You don't know the worst thing they planned. Ask Adrian what was supposed to happen after your baby was born."
I stared at the screen.
"Dad."
He looked over.
I showed him the message.
His expression darkened.
"Who sent this?"
"I don't know."
Then another message arrived.
"Your husband didn't just betray you for money."
May you like
My hands turned cold.
"He knew they wanted your daughter, too."
