It was a five-story limestone monument to Elias’s wealth, but it had never felt like a home to me.

I took the small elevator straight to the master suite on the fourth floor.

I did not turn on the overhead lights.

Instead, I used the flashlight on my phone to find my old canvas duffel bag in the back of the walk-in closet.

It was dusty, hidden behind rows of silk dresses and tailored wool coats.

The canvas still smelled faintly of the lavender detergent I used in Boston, before everything changed.

I packed three worn sweaters, two pairs of jeans, and my old leather boots.

I left behind the designer shoes and the jewelry Elias’s personal assistant had purchased for me.

None of those things truly belonged to me.

I walked to the double marble vanity in the master bathroom.

I twisted the massive diamond ring off my finger and set it down.

It made a sharp, metallic sound against the cold white stone.

I stared at the pale, red mark the band had left on my skin.

On the vanity, next to Elias’s silver comb, sat a manila envelope.

It was addressed to Elias from his family’s primary legal firm in Boston.

The corner of the document inside was sticking out, as if he had read it in a hurry before we left.

I pulled it out slightly, the heavy parchment paper scraping against my thumb.

It was a copy of his grandfather’s estate trust agreement.

My eyes scanned the lines of dense, typed legal text in the dim light of my phone.

*…subject to the strict condition of continued, lawful marriage…*

*…failure to maintain said union shall result in immediate forfeiture of all voting shares and the chief executive title…*

My breath caught in my dry throat.

He didn’t just marry me to quiet the press or to please his public relations team.