I wanted to believe her.
I really did.
Back in the church, Ethan dropped into the front pew like he owned the place. He wrapped his arm around the woman in red and even chuckled when the priest spoke about “eternal love.”
I felt sick.
That’s when I noticed someone standing from the side aisle—Michael Reeves, Emily’s attorney.
I barely knew him. Quiet, serious—the kind of man whose silence carried weight.
He stepped forward holding a sealed envelope like it mattered.
Because it did.
When he reached the front, he cleared his throat.
“Before the burial,” he said firmly, “I am required to carry out a direct legal instruction from the deceased. Her will will be read… now.”
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