“Mediation?” I repeated, the word tasting like copper in my mouth.

“We’re married, Rylan.”

“For now,” he said.

He picked up his phone and slid it back into his front pocket.

“But since you’re making this hostile, I have to protect my financial interests.”

“I put my own labor into this place.”

“I painted the guest room.”

“I cleared the brush in the backyard.”

“Those efforts have value, and I’m not walking away with nothing.”

I backed away from him, my hand reaching behind me to grip the edge of the dining table.

The polished mahogany felt cold beneath my fingertips.

“This is blackmail,” I said.

“It’s asset protection,” he corrected.

He walked past me toward the living room, his shoulder brushing mine.

I flinched away from the contact.

He didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he just didn’t care.

“I’m going to help my mother unpack,” he said over his shoulder.

“We should all try to keep things civil.”

I stood alone in the kitchen, listening to the sound of Solene’s dresser drawers opening and closing upstairs.