My mother-in-law ripped the blanket off my body and said, “You're not dead yet, Ava. So stop acting like it and get downstairs.”

By 8:00 AM the following morning, my fever had dropped to a stable 98.6 degrees. The medical team was reluctant to discharge me, but Jonathan had arranged for a private home-health nurse to stay with me at a boutique hotel downtown, far away from the Raleigh house until the legal team cleared the premises.

I was sitting in the private executive lounge on the ground floor of Rex Hospital, dressed in a clean navy-blue sweater and slacks that Jonathan's assistant had brought for me. I looked pale, and there were dark circles under my eyes, but for the first time in years, my posture was straight.

The glass double doors of the lounge flew open.

Ethan Mercer stormed into the room. He was still wearing the linen shirt and designer blazer he had worn to Asheville, but he looked completely unraveled. His hair was messy, his eyes were bloodshot from driving all night, and his face was red with rage.

Behind him stepped two hospital security officers, who held their positions near the doorway, their hands resting near their belts. Jonathan had made sure security was alerted the moment Ethan checked in at the front desk.

"Ava!" Ethan yelled, striding toward my table. "What the hell is going on?! My cards are frozen, my mother is sleeping in a Holiday Inn down the street, and some hotshot lawyer is telling people I'm a criminal!"

He reached out to grab my shoulder, but I didn't flinch. I simply looked up at him.

Before his hand could touch me, Jonathan stepped out from the adjacent corner, placing his large frame directly between us.

"Touch her, Mr. Mercer, and you will spend the rest of the weekend in a Wake County jail cell," Jonathan warned softly.

Ethan stopped, his fists clenching at his sides. He glared past Jonathan, trying to lock eyes with me.

"Ava, talk to me!" he demanded, his voice cracking with a mixture of anger and desperation. "Your fever must have messed up your head! My mother told me you had a panic attack, called some random ambulance, and let this guy take over our house!"

"A panic attack?" I spoke for the first time, my voice is low, clear, and steady. "Ethan, my fever was nearly 105 degrees. Your mother pulled the blanket off my body, grabbed my arm, and told me to get up and cook pot roast."

Ethan blinked, his aggressive stance faltering slightly. "She... she was just stressed, Ava! You know how she gets! She's old school!"

"She grabbed a sick woman who could barely stand," Jonathan interjected. "And while she was doing that, you were sitting in a luxury suite in Asheville with Chloe Vance."

Ethan's face went completely blank. The blood drained from his cheeks so fast he looked like he was going to throw up.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," Ethan stammered, his eyes darting frantically around the room. "Chloe is my junior associate. It was a business trip!"

"A business trip where you ordered room service for two at 11:30 PM?" Jonathan pulled a printed hotel folio from his coat pocket and placed it on the table between them. "A business trip where you charged a five-hundred-dollar spa package to a corporate card funded by your wife's dead father's trust?"

Ethan looked down at the paper. The mountain of evidence was insurmountable. There were no excuses to leave, no lies smooth enough to cover the truth.

"Ava..." Ethan dropped to his knees beside my chair, his voice suddenly shifting into that soft, desperate tone he used whenever he wanted to manipulate me. He reached out, trying to take my hand, but I pulled my arm back and folded my arms across my chest.

"Ava, please," he whimpered, tears filling his eyes. "I made a mistake. I was stressed. The pressure of trying to build my firm... I felt like I was drowning! Chloe didn't mean anything to me, I swear! It was just... it was a stupid distraction!"

"And your mother?" I asked, looking down at him without a single trace of emotion. "Was she a distraction too? Did you tell her to treat me like a maid in my own home?"

"She loves you, Ava!" Ethan lied, his voice rising in panic. "She's just set in her ways! If you give us a chance, we can fix this! We're a family!"

"We were never a family, Ethan," I said, leaning forward so that I was inches from his face. "You were a parasite. You used my father's money to fund your fake company, pay your mother's salary, and buy gifts for your mistress while I sat at home feeling guilty for wanting a career."

I pulled the signed legal petitions from Jonathan's folder and slid them across the table.

"You have twenty-four hours to remove your personal clothing from the Raleigh house," I told him. "Everything else—the furniture, the cars, the accounts, the business lease for Mercer Development—belongs to the trust. If you step onto that property after noon tomorrow, you will be arrested."

Ethan stared at the papers, his tearful expression instantly hardening back into fury. He stood up slowly, looking down at me with a hatred so pure it made my skin crawl.

"You think you can do this to me?" he spat, his voice dropped into a snarl. "You think you can just throw me out after three years? I made you who you are, Ava! Without me, you'd still be sitting in your father's dark house weeping over his memory! You're nothing without my family!"

Jonathan took one step forward, signaling to the security guards near the door.

"Escort Mr. Mercer from the building," Jonathan ordered. "And if he attempts to contact Mrs. Mercer again, file a formal complaint for harassment."

The two officers stepped up, gripping Ethan by his elbows and forcing him back toward the glass doors. Ethan kicked and struggled, screaming obscenities as he was hauled through the lobby, his designer shoes slipping against the polished marble floor.