Chapter 4

The next morning, the first thing I did was call a locksmith. I stood on the porch and watched as the old lock was drilled out and replaced with a new, stronger one. The locksmith handed me a set of three shiny, new keys. I gave one to Maria and put the other two in my pocket. The sound of the new bolt sliding into place was deeply satisfying. It was a small act, but it felt like reclaiming a piece of my territory.

When Julian showed up later that day, he found his old key useless. I watched from the living room window as he tried it once, then again, a look of confusion on his face. He banged on the door.

"Evelyn! I know you're in there! What did you do to the lock?"

I didn't answer. I just sat on the sofa, sipping my tea, and let him shout. It was a petty victory, but it was a victory nonetheless. Eventually, he gave up and his car sped away from the curb.

His reaction came via text message a few minutes later. "You can't lock me out of Arthur's life, Evelyn. This is childish."

I typed back a simple reply: "Watch me."

The next day, I began the process of disentangling our lives. I went through my father's study, boxing up every book, every paper, every photograph that had Julian in it.

I was ruthless. I cleared the shelves of fifteen years of shared history, of mentorship and collaboration. As I worked, I felt a strange sense of lightness. I wasn't erasing my father's past, I was protecting his future, and mine. The house began to feel like my own again, a safe harbor rather than a contested space.

The hardest part was going through the research. Julian's name was on dozens of preliminary papers and notes as a contributor. I carefully separated his contributions from my father' s core work, creating two distinct piles. It was a slow, meticulous process, but it was necessary. I was drawing a clear line in the sand. This is my father's. This was yours.

In the afternoon, I was in the garden, trying to clear my head, when another car pulled up. Not Julian's. It was Liam Hayes. He got out of the car, looking effortlessly confident in a simple t-shirt and jeans.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he said. "You didn't answer my texts. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine," I said, a small, genuine smile touching my lips. "Just... cleaning house."

Suddenly, another car screeched to a halt behind Liam's. It was Julian. He jumped out of his car, his face a thundercloud of fury. He saw me talking to Liam, and his expression darkened even more.

"Who is this?" Julian demanded, striding towards us across the lawn. He didn't even look at Liam, his eyes were locked on me.

"This is my friend, Liam," I said, my voice steady. I didn't flinch. "It's none of your business, Julian."

"None of my business?" he scoffed, a jealous fire in his eyes. "You lock me out of the house, you ignore my calls, and now you're entertaining guests? While your father is sick upstairs?"

"My father is resting," I said coldly. "And my guests are my concern. You need to leave. You're trespassing."

Liam stepped forward slightly, placing himself between me and Julian. He was taller than Julian, with a quiet but commanding presence. "The lady asked you to leave," Liam said, his voice polite but firm.

Julian finally looked at Liam, his eyes raking over him with disdain. "And who are you? Her new protector?" He let out a harsh laugh. "You have no idea what you're getting into. She's unstable."

The accusation, made so casually in front of a near-stranger, stole my breath. It was one thing to say it to me, or to the board. It was another to try and poison a new friendship, to isolate me even further. I felt a surge of white-hot anger. The despair he had caused was burning away, leaving something harder and more resilient in its place. I was done feeling helpless.

"Get off my property, Julian," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "Now."

He held my gaze for a long moment, his jaw tight. He seemed to realize he had lost control, that his usual tactics of intimidation and manipulation weren't working. He shot a final, venomous look at Liam, then turned on his heel and stormed back to his car.

As he drove away, I finally let out the breath I had been holding. I felt shaky and exposed.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," I murmured to Liam.

"Don't be," he said, his expression serious. "Now I know exactly what you're up against." He looked at me, his gaze softening. "He mentioned the board. The accusations. He told them you were unstable, didn't he?"

I nodded, my throat tight.

"He's not just trying to steal your father's work," Liam said, his voice low. "He's trying to destroy you. He's using your personal life, your medical history, anything he can get his hands on."

A sudden, sickening realization dawned on me. My medical history. When I had taken the leave of absence from the fellowship, I had to submit a confidential letter to my own doctor explaining the family stress and my role as a caregiver, mentioning the emotional toll it was taking. It was standard procedure. I had foolishly mentioned it to Julian once, in a moment of vulnerability, long before I knew what he was capable of.

"My God," I whispered. "He wouldn't."

Liam' s face was grim. "With a guy like that? I think he would. He's not just fighting for research. He's trying to win a war he started in his own head."

The thought that he would twist my private, vulnerable confession into a weapon to be used against me was the ultimate betrayal. He had taken my trust and turned it into ammunition. The fight wasn't just about my father's legacy anymore. It was about reclaiming my own story from the twisted narrative he was trying to create.