Inside were documents—transfers, legal drafts, handwritten notes.
Unsent donations. Employees quietly pushed out. Violet’s mother’s hospital bills—paid by Rick while Angela and David took credit.
Then I reached the estate plan.
My throat went dry.
“Rick…”
“After I die,” he said, “part of the company and the charitable foundation go to you.”
I dropped the folder onto the bed.
“No.”
“Yes, Layla. It’s the only way.”
“No. Your family already thinks I’m a gold digger. Imagine when they find out.”
“They thought that before you put on the ring.”
“They’ll destroy me.”
He held my gaze. “Only if you let them.”
I let out a sharp, unsteady laugh. “Why me?”
“Because you notice what others step over. Who gets ignored. Who gets used. People who’ve been unwanted usually do.”
“I thought I was the desperate one in this marriage.”
Rick lowered himself into the chair by the fire. “No. Just honest.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“You would’ve run,” he said. “And I needed time to prove I wasn’t offering you a cage.”
“So what now?”
“Now they’ll try to put you in your place. But this marriage—it was about giving you security too. And you’ll have it.”
A few days later, Violet cornered me on the terrace.
“I heard Grandpa changed his will.”
I turned to face her. “You’ve barely spoken to me in weeks, and that’s your opener?”
“Did you marry him for money or not?”
“I married him because I was terrified of being poor forever.”
“And now?”
