“And if I say no?” I asked.

“Then Solene stays,” he said simply.

“In fact, she was talking about redecorating the guest room next.”

“She wants to paint over the hand-painted floral trim your aunt did.”

My breath hitched.

That trim was the last thing my Aunt Clara had painted before she passed away.

Rylan knew how much it meant to me.

He was using my grief and my love for this house as a weapon.

“You are a monster,” I whispered.

“I am a husband who wants security,” he said.

He picked up a pen from the ceramic jar on the counter and slid it toward me.

“Think about it,” he said.

“A quiet house. Just the two of us. No more family dinners, no more noise.”

I reached out, my fingers trembling as I touched the edge of the heavy paper.

I couldn’t sign it.

If I gave him half the house, I would lose all leverage to ever protect it.

But the thought of Solene destroying the rest of my memories was unbearable.

“I need time,” I said.