“Violet. Look at me. Tell them his age. Tell them the address.”
She nodded and forced the words out.
Rick’s fingers tightened around my wrist.
“Don’t let them bully you into silence.”
“I won’t.”
He gave the smallest nod.
Three days later, he summoned the entire family.
They arrived dressed in black—as if already mourning the version of him they believed would make them rich.
Rick sat by the fire, pale, his cane resting beside him.
“I’ll save us time,” he said. “Layla remains my wife. After my death, she will oversee the foundation and hold partial control of the company.”
Angela gasped. Daniel shot halfway out of his seat.
Rick lifted a hand. “Sit down.”
“You despise her because you think she wanted my money,” he continued. “That would matter more if your lives weren’t built around it.”
Then he turned to Violet.
“Your mother’s medical bills were paid by me for three years. Not by your aunt or uncle.”
“What?”
“The records are in my study. Along with everything else—including the way Daniel has been stealing from me and Angela has been firing my staff.”
Angela opened her mouth.
“Don’t speak.”
Then his eyes found mine.
“Layla is the only person in this room who ever spoke to me like a man instead of a cash cow. She will be protected. Our marriage isn’t romantic, but it is based on respect and integrity.”
After they left, Violet found me crying in the hallway.
“I thought you sold yourself,” she whispered.
I wiped my face. “You thought the worst of me very easily.”
Her lips trembled. “I know.”
“You were my person. And you made me feel cheap for trying to survive.”
She looked down. “I’m sorry, Layla.”
I believed her.
But I wasn’t ready to comfort her.
Rick died four months later.
