The phone was lighting up, a local Los Angeles number flashing on the screen.

“You have exactly ten seconds to decide if you want to be a wealthy mother or a broke martyr.”

The phone vibrated in her hand, the soft hum vibrating through the quiet terrace.

The hum of the phone vibrated against Victoria’s manicured fingers.

I looked down at my stomach, where my baby kicked, a sharp, sudden movement that made me catch my breath.

The air smelled of hot slate and lavender from the terrace gardens.

“Ten,” Victoria said, her voice flat. “Nine.”

Adelaide took a step back, her heels clicking on the stone.

“Take it, Natalie,” Adelaide murmured. “She will do exactly what she says.”

I looked from Adelaide to Victoria.

“And if I don’t?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

Victoria lowered the phone slightly, but the screen kept flashing.

“If you don’t, I will file a petition to freeze every account tied to Tyler’s name within the hour,” she said.

“I will challenge the validity of your marriage in probate court.”

“You married an identity, not a man.”