But the final paragraph? That's where the real knife twisted.
However, Mr. Montgomery is willing to forego this custody action if Mrs. Montgomery is amenable to reaching a private settlement. Given the substantial inheritance she has recently received, a sum of $250,000 would demonstrate her commitment to Oliver's well-being and allow him to remain in his mother's care, provided she makes appropriate changes to her living situation and ceases her relationship with Gabriel Thatcher.
Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Evie's vision blurred. The kitchen tilted sideways, and she stumbled backwards until her spine hit the refrigerator. The metal was cold through her sweater, grounding her even as her world spun apart.
Adrian was threatening to take Ollie. Her baby. Her son. The only good thing that had come from her marriage to that man.
Unless she paid him a quarter of a million dollars.
The letter slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the floor, and Evie’s knees gave out along with it. She slid down to the ground and sat, immobile, on the kitchen floor. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe properly.
The house was too quiet. Ollie was at school, safe, at least, for now. But the silence pressed in on her like water, drowning her in what-ifs and worst-case scenarios that bloomed like poison in her mind.
Could Adrian do this? Would a judge look at her life as a single mom, living with three men, running a demanding small business, and decide that Adrian's pristine suburban existence with his corporate salary was better for Ollie?
She'd worked so hard. Built the bakery from nothing. Given Ollie stability after the divorce, a routine, a home filled with laughter and warmth and people who actually cared about him. And now Adrian - who'd walked away from them both withouta backward glance, who'd cheated and lied and made her feel small for years - now he wanted to swoop in and take her son?
Because she had money now. Because Nana Rose had loved her enough to leave her the house and the inheritance. Because she'd dared to be happy again.
The thin burn scar on her left wrist throbbed, a phantom pain from years ago when she'd been learning to bake with her grandmother, and it was like she was there with her. Reminding Evie that Nana Rose had never trusted Adrian. That she’d been determined the man would never get his hands on her wealth.
Nana Rose would be turning in her grave if she knew Evie would give it all to him if it meant keeping her son. But what other choice did she have?
And the three men she loved, that she shared a bed with… merciful cupcakes, how could she be without them?
No loss had ever terrified her like the possible erasure of the men she loved, loved in a way so fierce and rare, Evie sometimes doubted her own deserving of it. The reality of waking alone, without the warmth of all three pressed in beside her, was so unthinkable it read like a cruel joke. Even as the legal threat tried to reduce her polyamorous, beautiful mess of a family to something shameful or illicit, Evie remembered the way Shepherd brought her coffee with artful hearts in the foam and sat with her in the stillness before sunrise, just listening, just being.
How Asher could coax even the gloomiest day into sunshine with some ridiculous story or a spontaneous dance in the bakery kitchen, his laughter peeling away her stress.
And Gabe, who never stopped believing in her, who stood by her even when she failed at believing in herself, who built up her confidence with gentle words and sometimes a simple, steadying touch on her lower back… or sometimes a spanking.
She could see all their faces when she closed her eyes. Gabe's brow furrowed with concern, Shepherd's arms crossed in stubborn protectiveness, Asher's sunny smile pasting over a storm of worry.
They were her constants. Her chosen family. They’d shown up for her. For Ollie. They made pancakes with her son on Saturdays and debated bedtime stories with the kind of nerdy seriousness only true, ridiculous love could support.
They were the ones who made her feel safe and needed and brave, and now she was supposed to, what? Just cut them out? Sever the best part of her life because Adrian wanted to play the role of patriarch and punish her for moving on?
The possibility gaped before her, ugly and vast. The bakery, the house, even Ollie’s sunlit smile, all soured and dimmed by an emptiness where her men used to be.
The thought of telling Shepherd he wasn’t welcome in her home anymore, or asking Asher to stay away, or explaining to Gabe that their relationship was now a custodial liability—it was unbearable. She would rather torch every dollar, every last crumb of her inheritance, and resort to scrubbing floors for rent than let Adrian rip away the joy she had finally, finally found.
And now, sitting on the cold tile, clutching her knees, the fear pressed so hard against her ribs it was almost a physical pain. She could not lose them. Not after everything. Not when she’d only just begun to believe she was worthy of so much love.
But she didn’t have a choice. The one thing she would never risk was her son.
Her stomach lurched, and for a horrible moment, she thought she might be sick right there on the kitchen floor. She pressed her forehead against her knees, willing the nausea to pass, and tried to focus on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked its steady rhythm, indifferent to her panic. Outside, a car door slammed,and she flinched. Every sound felt like a threat now, like Adrian might materialize at any moment to rip Ollie away from her.
She stayed where she was, curled in on herself, as if making herself as small as possible would minimize the reality she was now facing, as if anything could.
She stared into nothing, trying not to think, trying not to feel, because if she did, she might be ripped apart.
Her phone buzzed. The timer pinged. Smoke started billowing out of the oven. The door slammed. Someone shouted.
None of it registered.
