By the time Serena Miller realized that the air-conditioning upstairs had been turned off once again, the back of her silk blouse was already damp with sweat.

Evelyn’s office was a sanctuary of dark wood and absolute confidentiality. Serena sat across the heavy desk, sliding a neatly organized folder toward the attorney.

“Walk me through it, Serena,” Evelyn said, adjusting her glasses.

“My mother-in-law has been living in my home for two years. She believes it belongs to Lucas. Lucas has done nothing to correct this assumption. In fact, he’s leaning into it. Furthermore, he is using our joint household funds to finance her redecorating and landscaping projects without my consent.”

Evelyn opened the folder. “The deed is entirely in your name, Serena. It passed directly from your father’s trust to you. The prenuptial agreement we drafted explicitly protects this property as a pre-marital asset. Lucas has zero claim to the equity, the title, or the grounds.”

“I know that,” Serena said. “And Lucas knows that. But his mother doesn’t. And he’s too much of a coward to tell her the truth because he enjoys the prestige of pretending he provided this lifestyle for his family.”

Evelyn leaned back in her leather chair. “What do you want to do? You have every right to serve her with a formal eviction notice. Thirty days, and she’s legally required to vacate.”

“If I just evict her, Lucas will play the victim. He’ll tell his entire family that I’m a cold, heartless woman who threw an elderly lady onto the street. I need it to be undeniable. I need him to be the one to admit it, in front of the very people he’s been lying to.”

Evelyn smiled, a slow, predatory expression. “You’re looking for a stage.”

“I am.”

“Then we prepare the paperwork. I will draft a formal eviction notice for Beatrice Vance. I will also prepare a post-nuptial asset separation document regarding the joint accounts. If he’s misusing shared funds to upgrade an asset he doesn't own, we can freeze his access. When do you want to serve them?”

Serena thought of the calendar hanging in the kitchen. Beatrice had circled a weekend late in August in bright red marker. Vance Family Reunion. She had been planning it for weeks, actively excluding Serena’s sister and niece from the guest list, treating the Savannah estate as her personal banquet hall.