“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” Ethan said, leaning over the table toward me.

The scent of his cologne, sharp and metallic, drifted across the space between us.

“I consulted a lawyer before I signed those papers, Ethan,” I said. “The trust is ironclad.”

“Everything is ironclad until it isn’t,” he said, his eyes narrowing into slits.

He stood up, towering over me, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“You have other assets, Sophia,” Ethan said, his voice suddenly cold and calculating.

“My mother’s house,” I said. “And my own personal savings.”

“Exactly,” he said. “And we’ve been married for four years.”

“What are you saying?” I asked.

“I’m saying that in New York, martial assets are subject to equitable distribution,” Ethan said, a cruel smile touching his lips.

Linda stopped pacing and looked at her son, her expression turning smug.

“If you won’t help us voluntarily, we will take what is legally mine,” Ethan said.

“You aren’t entitled to my inheritance, Ethan, even without the trust,” I said. “Inheritances are separate property.”