Victor stood near the fireplace, relaxed, swirling bourbon in a crystal glass. “There she is,” he said lightly. “My dramatic wife.”
Margaret’s eyes scanned Savannah’s face for weakness. “We’re here to clean up this mess,” she said coldly. “You’ve humiliated this family.”
Savannah forced herself to stand straight. “I want a divorce,” she said quietly. “And a restraining order.”
Derek laughed out loud. “Against Victor? You’ve got to be kidding.”
Lawrence set a folder on the coffee table. “Let’s make this simple,” he said. “Sign the settlement, accept the confidentiality clause, and you’ll receive a generous payment. Refuse… and we file the mental-health petition that’s already prepared.”
Victor leaned closer, his voice smooth. “You’ve been unstable lately, Sav. Stress, paranoia, mood swings. Remember those wellness appointments?”
Those appointments had never been about her health. Victor had insisted she see a psychiatrist he trusted after she once called the police—and then withdrew the report out of fear. The doctor’s notes became weapons: “anxiety,” “emotional volatility,” “possible delusions.” Clinical words that felt like chains.
Savannah swallowed hard. “You hit me,” she said softly.