I sat on the edge of the cream-colored sofa, smoothing my skirt.

The firelight caught the edge of the brass fire irons.

“You did this to yourself, Graham,” I said.

“You took the money from the client acquisition fund.”

He followed me, his footsteps heavy on the Persian rug.

He stood over me, his shadow stretching across the high ceiling.

“You think you’re clever, Arden?” he sneered.

“You think you’ve won something here?”

He threw the crumpled paper onto the glass coffee table.

It rolled against a crystal vase of white hydrangeas.

“Every single asset we own is tied to my standing at that firm,” Graham said.

“If I go down, this house goes down.”

“Your lifestyle, your charity boards, your trips—all of it vanishes.”

He leaned closer, his face tight and pale.

“You forget about the prenuptial agreement,” he said, a thin, cruel smile touching his lips.

“You signed it, Arden.”

“You get the townhome in Austin and a fixed monthly allowance that won’t even cover the interest on this place.”

“The rest remains mine.”

He tapped his chest with two fingers.