[Adrian’s POV]

The documents Marcus sent arrive in my inbox at 6 a.m., a collection of PDFs and email threads and scanned correspondence that spans nearly a decade.

I sit at the kitchen table with my laptop, coffee growing cold beside me, scrolling through evidence that transforms everything I thought I understood about my ex-wife’s vendetta. The morning light filters through the curtains, pale and gray, casting long shadows across the scattered papers I’ve already printed. Each page feels heavier than the last, weighted with the accumulated damage of years I didn’t know were being orchestrated. My hands tremble slightly as I click through document after document, the scope of her cruelty unfurling before me like a map of devastation I never knew existed.

Sophie and Cassian already know about Lisette—I told them months ago, when her name first surfaced in connection with my career troubles. The difficult marriage. The bitter divorce. Her threats when I left. But knowing she’s my ex-wife and understanding the full scope of her obsession are two very different things. The difference between knowing there’s a storm coming and standing in the eye of a hurricane, watching destruction spiral around you.

She’s done this before. Not just to me—to others. Graduate students who challenged her, junior faculty who didn’t show proper deference, anyone who threatened her carefully constructed kingdom. The methods vary, but the results are consistent: careers derailed, reputations damaged, opportunities mysteriously evaporating.

Three documented cases before me. Possibly more that Marcus couldn’t find.

The pattern laid out before me is methodical, almost artistic in its cruelty. She doesn’t just destroy people—she dismantles them piece by piece, so slowly they don’t realize what’s happening until there’s nothing left to save. The realization settles over me like ice water, chilling me from the inside out. I’ve been a frog in slowly boiling water, and I never even felt the temperature rise.

Sophie finds me still staring at the screen an hour later, her hand settling on my shoulder with gentle concern. Her touch grounds me, pulling me back from the spiral of anger and violation I’ve been drowning in. The contact feels like a lifeline thrown to a man lost at sea.

“Adrian? You’ve been out here for ages. Cassian made breakfast, but you didn’t—” She stops, reading something in my expression that makes her voice sharpen. “What is it? What did Marcus find?”

“A pattern.” I turn the laptop toward her, showing the timeline I’ve constructed from the documents. My voice sounds foreign to my own ears—hollow, distant. “Lisette hasn’t just been targeting me. She’s been doing this for years. Different victims, same methods. I’m not her first obsession—I’m just her longest-running one.”

Sophie sinks into the chair beside me, her brow furrowed as she scans the information. Her pregnancy has progressed enough now that the movement requires deliberate care, her hand automatically moving to support her growing belly.

A moment later, Cassian appears in the doorway, drawn by the tension in our voices. He takes in the scene—my pale face, Sophie’s concentration, the laptop glowing between us—and moves to stand behind her, reading over her shoulder. His presence steadies something in me, a reminder that I’m no longer facing this alone.

“This changes things,” Cassian says slowly, his analytical mind already processing implications. “If there’s a documented pattern, other victims who could corroborate…”

“It’s not enough on its own.” I minimize the timeline and pull up another document—correspondence between Lisette and an academic journal editor, carefully worded but unmistakably threatening. “She’s careful. She never says anything explicit, never leaves fingerprints. Even with all this evidence, we’d need more to build a real case.”

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