Chapter Forty-One
Lilianna
We had arrived back at the house just after nine, the drive home quieter than our journey to the conservatory. Julian had kept one hand on mine the entire way, his thumb occasionally brushing over my knuckles in silent reassurance. Now, as we stepped through the front door, I could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.
The others were waiting for us in the living room, their expressions a mixture of concern and determination. Miles stood by the fireplace, his posture tense as he turned to face us. Christopher sat on the edge of the couch, none of his usual playful energy evident in his serious expression. Nicolaus remained slightly apart, tablet in hand, his analytical gaze assessing me as we entered.
"How was the conservatory?" Miles asked, his voice gentle despite the obvious tension in the room.
"Beautiful," I said softly, my fingers still intertwined with Julian's. "The night-blooming orchid was exactly as stunning as Julian promised."
Christopher smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm glad you had that moment. You deserved it."
Julian guided me to the couch, his hand resting protectively at the small of my back. "I told her about her parents approaching Miles," he said quietly to the others. "But not the rest."
Miles stepped forward, his green eyes finding mine. "I'm sorry, Lilianna. I didn't want to ruin your date."
"It's not your fault," I said, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. "They've always been... persistent when they want something."
Nicolaus set his tablet down on the coffee table, the screen displaying what looked like security footage. "We've been monitoring the situation since yesterday," he explained, his tone clinical but not cold.
"We've implemented several security protocols," he continued, his blue eyes intent on mine. "First, we've enhanced the surveillance system around the property. Any approach will be detected and recorded."
I nodded, trying to process what this meant. "Do you think they'd actually try to come here?"
"We can't rule it out," Julian said, settling beside me on the couch. "Your parents have already demonstrated their willingness to cross boundaries by confronting Miles directly."
Christopher leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. "We've also alerted the security teams at our workplaces and public venues we frequent. They know to watch for the Waycliffes and to prevent any unauthorized approaches."
"This feels so... extreme," I whispered, a chill running through me despite the warmth of the room. "They're just my parents."
“They’re not‘just’anything,” Miles said firmly, the warmth in his voice tempered by steel. “They’re powerful, calculated, and they’ve shown time and time again that they’re willing to disregard your autonomy if it serves their agenda.”
I sat frozen for a moment, my thoughts tangling with a swirl of emotions rising in my chest—hurt, anger, disbelief. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what my parents were capable of, I was. I’d grown up with the subtle cruelties, the constant reminders that I existed more as a tool than a daughter. But it was different hearing it laid out like this, by people who saw it with fresh eyes. With unflinching honesty
Julian’s hand found mine again, anchoring me. “They tried to file a preliminary motion for conservatorship. Nicolaus caught it within hours. We’ve already responded through legal channels.”
“A conservatorship?” I repeated, stunned. “Are you serious?”
“They’re trying to paint a picture of instability,” Nicolaus said, tapping his tablet to bring up a sleek document. “Claiming emotional distress, lack of impulse control, and undue influence—namely from us.”
I stared at the screen. My name was there, in all caps. So were terms like mental incapacity and potential exploitation. Words that twisted my stomach into knots.
“I’ve never been more in control of myself than I am now,” I whispered.
“We know,” Miles said, kneeling in front of me so we were eye level. “But the law doesn't always see the truth—it sees narratives. And your parents are spinning theirs fast.”
“I didn’t think they’d stoop to this,” I admitted, voice cracking. “I thought maybe… just maybe… they’d leave me be.”
Julian’s arm wrapped around my shoulder, pulling me gently into his side. “They’re afraid of losing their grip on you. That fear is making them reckless.”
Christopher sat back, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “We’ve seen families like this before. They see independence as rebellion. Not freedom. Not strength. Just… disobedience.”
I swallowed hard. My pulse thundered in my ears. “And the media?”
Nicolaus answered, his voice cool and precise. "They're priming for a public narrative. Small mentions to journalists about 'family concerns.' Carefully worded social posts that hint at their worry without naming you directly."
"They want public sympathy," Julian added, his fingers tightening slightly around mine. "To make themselves look like concerned parents rather than controlling manipulators."
