It was Daniel’s voice, but it sounded different—breathless, strained, and filled with shock.

“Daniel? What is it?” I asked, my heart stopping.

“I’m at the office,” he whispered.

“I found her desk diary. The one they tried to shred.”

He paused, and I could hear the sound of paper rustling frantically in the background.

“Sarah, there’s another will.”

My fingers tightened around the receiver until my knuckles turned white.

“Another will?” I whispered.

On the other side of the bed, Lucas shifted his head against my shoulder, letting out a soft sigh.

“Evelyn wrote it two weeks before she died,” Daniel said, his breath rattling through the phone.

I could hear the rain heavy against his office windows, a dull, rhythmic drumming.

“She kept it in her locked vanity diary,” he continued. “The one Vance claimed was lost in the move.”

Harrison Vance was the family’s senior estate attorney, a man who had served the Whitmore family for thirty years.

“What does it say, Daniel?” I asked.

“It says everything, Sarah,” he said, using my real name with a quiet, aching reverence.