Palme

me. I signed it without reading. Then, Fitzgerald himself drove me to the police station. He sat in the car while I went inside and delivered the humiliating, pre-rehearsed speech, my voice

, a place so sterile and white it felt l

The interrogation... the sustained stress... it induced a major cardiac event. He has extensive damage to

m. Not to save him, but to torture him. The thought w

erald had drilled into me coming out auto

g look, but I kept my face blank. I

sts, my chronic stomach condition flaring up as I forced down another glass of wine, smiling until my face ached, charming them, making them believe in the brilliant, charismatic man I presented. He was the gen

I saw the true cost. My father' s life han

yself, the thought a tiny, sharp

as meant to be a grand gesture of his gratitude. "This isn' t to protect me from you, Addy," he' d s

ing to one specific clause. Clause 11-B. In the event of a divorce initiated by either party for any reason, forty percent of Fitzgerald'

meaningless piece of legal j

iet corner of the waiting room. I pulled out the bu

situation in clipped, urgent tones. "The prenup,"

still just a man in love with the woman who saved him, not a billionaire trying to protect his assets. It' s the stup

harp, pierced th

y. Don' t serve him the papers. Jus

visor, a name whispered in circles of the ultra-wealthy for handling... sensitive

ooth, calm voice on the other end of the line. "For a

h comp

Corp,"

h. "That would be... a monumenta

I need it done as soon as possible

Mr. Jones, he

I said, a bitter smile touching m

preciative sound. "I see. Consider it done, M

the hallway. "Oh, you are just the brav

on her nose. She was holding court with two nurses, recounting a wildly fabricated story o

ent, it was almost clarifying. I saw the pa

rald never came. He sent flowers with a card that read, "Hoping for a speedy recovery for your father.

d day, my l

this morning. The shares have been legally transferred to

the mansion that had been my prison.

as lying on the sofa with her head in his lap, watching

his face tighten

said, my voice c

relieved that he wouldn' t have to

would stroke my hair for hours, whispering promises that one day, he' d be rich enough to find

the cabinet where I kept my prescription medication for the chronic stomach condition I' d developed during years of high-stress

ky taste familiar. I leaned against the counter, wai

earing and sharp. It felt like I had swallowed broken glass. A wave of nausea hit me so har

g. This wasn' t my normal pain. This was so

owder. Identical to my own medication, except for a tiny label I couldn' t quite read. I crawled towards it, my fingers shaking, and managed to grab i

d replaced

her voice dripping with fake concern. "Looks like you' re having a bad reaction. May

le in my hand, and in that mom