He let out a short, dry breath that was almost a laugh.

“We don’t have time for your sentimentality, Ava,” he said.

“If you divorce me, the board strips me of my title within forty-eight hours.”

He spoke of his downfall with the same clinical detachment he used for quarterly earnings reports.

“I will not let forty years of family legacy disappear because of your sudden moral awakening,” he added.

“It wasn’t sudden,” I said. “I just finally saw what you really are.”

He didn’t argue the point.

Instead, he reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope.

He placed it on the desk next to his gloves.

“This is an amendment to our prenuptial agreement,” Elias said.

“The funds will be managed by a Swiss trustee.”

“I will deposit five million dollars into your personal account every year we remain together,” he said.

“I don’t want your money,” I said, pushing the envelope back toward him.

“Everyone wants money, Ava,” he said, his voice cold and certain.

“You will play the part of my wife for the public, and in private, you can live however you please.”