Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 180

The moment those words left her mouth, a suffocating silence hijacked the living room.

How they used to live.

Lydia understood exactly what she meant.

And so did Quentin.

Before she turned thirteen, Willow and Lydia had been crammed into a tiny apartment in Southside.

Quentin visited once a week—if he bothered to show up at all. When neighbors asked where her father was, she had to lie and say he was busy working. Whenever the school demanded family information, she would meticulously fill out her father's section, knowing full well he would never attend a single parent-teacher conference.

Then Vivian died.

And she finally gained entry into the Whitaker estate.

She promised herself that from that day forward, she would never again wait for someone else to validate her existence.

But the second Wren returned, Willow felt like she was shoved right back onto the wrong side of the door.

Waiting for it to open.

Waiting for someone to grant her permission to step inside.

Quentin stared at her, his rigid expression softening just a fraction.

"You don't need to go to the vault," he stated. "I'll have someone sort through it tomorrow."

Willow let out a hollow laugh.

"Sort through it, or dispose of it?"

Quentin's eyes frosted over again.

Father and daughter locked in a tense standoff.

Finally, Lydia stood up and stepped between them.

"Enough. Look at the time—stop arguing." She turned to Willow. "You're staying the night. When Wren comes tomorrow, you stay out of sight."

Willow shook her head. "I'm going to be here."

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"Because this is my home," Willow replied.

The moment the words left her mouth, even she found them grating.

Quentin didn't contradict her.

Neither did Lydia.

But Willow knew that when those words reached Wren's ears, they would twist into a freshly sharpened blade.

She didn't care.

She had endured Wren's judgmental stares for far too long.

Stares that constantly branded her a thief.

If she was going to be the thief, she might as well steal everything.

Late that night, Willow returned to the second floor.

She stood at the entrance of her dressing room, hesitating to flip the light switch.

It was a massive space.

Willow stared at her, asking softly, "Mom... what are you so afraid of?"

Lydia didn't answer.

She stepped into the room, grabbed Willow's wrist, and dragged her out into the hall.

"You're sleeping in the guest room tonight."

"Why?"

"Just listen to me."

Willow glanced back at the brilliantly lit dressing room.

Rows upon rows of pristine gowns hung in perfect order.

Suddenly, those dresses looked like a crowd of silent strangers, standing frozen in place, staring back at her.

The door clicked shut.

Lydia personally locked it.

At the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place, Willow's heart sank right along with it.

She was certain now.

The Cobalt Folder might not be in there.

But something had absolutely been hidden in that room.

What could it be? She couldn't wait to find out.