At my birthday party, my husband tied me to a ceiling beam and wh*pped me thirty times because I had stained his mistress’s dress. “Maybe now you’ll learn your place,” he laughed while everyone watched. I didn’t cry. When they finally cut me down, I picked up my phone and called my five brothers. “Make his entire family beg for mercy,” I whispered. Then the front gates suddenly slammed shut.
Her voice was smooth, almost sympathetic.
“Whatever you think is happening here, this isn’t what it looks like.”
“Which part?” I asked.
She paused.
“Any of it.”
“The document is real,” I said.
“I’ve had a copy for three weeks.”
That landed.
Clover’s composure cracked — just slightly, just at the corners — and for one moment she looked exactly like what she was: a woman who had made a very large bet on the wrong family.
Noah had not spoken since he entered the room.
He walked to me now, slowly, and stood beside me.
“Are you hurt?” he asked quietly.
“I’m fine.”
He looked at my wrists again.
His jaw tightened.
“You’re not fine.
But you will be.”
Isaac had been watching this exchange.
Something in him shifted — not remorse, not yet.
Something closer to the first cold awareness that the ground beneath him was no longer solid.
“Flora,” he said.
“We can talk about this.
Whatever Marcus has, whatever you think you know — we can sit down and—”
“Isaac.” I looked at him.
“Call your lawyer.”
He stared at me.
“You’re going to need one,” I said.
“And so is your father.”
Outside, one of the black SUVs pulled forward.
Through the tall ballroom windows, I could see Caleb standing at the gate, speaking into a phone.
He was not speaking to anyone inside the house.
