The morning after my wedding, my mother-in-law showed up before the flowers had even begun to fade, dressed in ivory as if she had been the one to marry my husband. She entered our suite with a notary, a leather folder, and the satisfied smile of someone convinced her target would bow without resistance.
“Sign,” she said, placing the documents on the breakfast table. “Since you’re family now, put everything in Ethan’s name.”
I studied the papers, then looked at my husband. Ethan stood by the window with his arms crossed, his jaw tight, avoiding my gaze entirely. Just a day earlier, he had whispered forever into my hair. Now he looked through me, as though I already belonged to his mother’s house.
The room still carried the scent of champagne and roses. My silk robe brushed my legs as I sat. I read the first page, then again, slowly enough that Lydia Hale’s diamond bracelet tapped sharply against the table.
“This isn’t a family trust update,” I said.
Lydia let out a thin laugh. “Of course not. It’s simpler. A spousal transfer. Ethan will manage what little you have.”