I pushed the door open and stepped into Vivian’s study.

The room smelled of beeswax, leather, and the faint, bitter scent of the herbal tea she drank to ease her joint pain.

Vivian stood by the tall arched window, her back to me as she watched the rain lash against the glass.

The Hudson River below was a black, churning void under the flashes of distant lightning.

“Close the door,” she said, not turning around.

I clicked the heavy latch into place and stood near the edge of her massive mahogany desk.

“Jason thinks you are a weak girl who can be bought with a marriage settlement,” Vivian said, her reflection faint in the dark windowpane.

“My father was bought, not me,” I replied, keeping my voice steady.

She turned slowly, her pale blue eyes sharp as they locked onto mine.

She walked to her leather armchair and sat down, resting both hands on the silver handle of her cane.

“You have been spending too much time in Ethan’s room,” she said.

“I am his wife,” I said. “Even if it was arranged under false pretenses.”