The rain tapped against the tall, arched windows of the Thornton estate.

Below the cliffs, the Hudson River looked like a sheet of dark slate.

I pulled the heavy lace veil away from my face and stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror.

The white silk wedding dress felt like a shroud.

My father had sold me to this family for thirty million dollars.

That was the exact price of his bad debts and his freedom from prison.

He had wept when I agreed, calling me his savior.

But I knew he was only saving himself.

In exchange for the money, Vivian Thornton got a docile bride for her eldest grandson.

She wanted someone quiet, someone she could easily control while her family’s empire hung in the balance.

A married heir looked better to the board of directors, even if that heir was hooked up to machines.

I looked down at the thick gold band on my left ring finger.

It felt incredibly heavy.

“He is in the east wing,” Vivian had told me after the brief ceremony in the drawing room.

Her voice had been as cold as the marble floors of her mansion.

“You will stay with him. That is your sole duty now. Do not wander the grounds.”

Her other grandson, Jason, had smiled at me from the doorway.

It was a thin, knowing smile that made my skin crawl.

“Welcome to the family, sister-in-law,” Jason had whispered, his eyes lingering on my collarbone.

“Let me know if you need anything at all. Ethan isn’t much for conversation these days, but I certainly am.”

Now, I walked down the long, carpeted hallway of the east wing.

The walls were lined with grand oil portraits of dead Thorntons.

They all seemed to watch me with cold, judgmental eyes.

The air in this part of the house felt heavy, almost stagnant.

I pushed open the heavy oak door to Ethan’s room.

The smell of antiseptic and expensive lavender soap hit me instantly.

Monitors beeped softly in the corner, keeping a steady, rhythmic pulse.

In the center of the room sat a massive four-poster bed.

Ethan Thornton lay there, perfectly still.