Chapter 2

Henry Sullivan's office was downtown, forty minutes from the Ashford estate.

I had exactly two hours before Dominic expected the guest room cleared. If I wasn't back by then, he'd start making calls—to Dr. Aldridge, to the facility, to the judge he had in his pocket.

I pulled my coat tight and slipped out through the service entrance. The housekeeper, Mrs. Finch, spotted me in the hallway.

"Mrs. Ashford? Are you going somewhere?"

She was loyal to Dominic. Everything I said would be reported back.

"Just grabbing some storage boxes from the garage," I said with a tired smile. "For the guest room."

She nodded, satisfied, and returned to the kitchen.

I moved quickly after that. Through the garage, out the side gate, and into the rideshare I had ordered from the burner phone.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I must have looked terrible—pale, thin, dark circles carved beneath my eyes. Three years of marriage to Dominic had hollowed me out.

But today, for the first time in years, my mind was razor-sharp.

Henry Sullivan was already waiting when I arrived. He was old now—mid-seventies, silver-haired, with deep lines carved into his face. But his eyes were still keen.

He studied me for a long moment after I sat down.

"You look like her," he said quietly. "Like Eleanor."

My grandmother, Eleanor Whitfield, had built a real estate empire from nothing. She had been ruthless, brilliant, and feared by every man in the industry.

She had also been dead for five years.

"Mr. Sullivan, I need to access my grandmother's trust."

He leaned back in his chair.

"Nora, your grandmother's trust was dissolved. Your husband presented documentation showing you had voluntarily transferred all assets to the Ashford Group."

The room tilted. I gripped the armrest.

"I never signed anything."

"I know," he said. "I told your grandmother that before she passed. She didn't believe you would be that foolish."

He opened a drawer and placed a sealed envelope on the desk.

"She left this for you. Told me to give it to you only when you came asking."

My hands shook as I tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper, covered in my grandmother's elegant handwriting.

My dearest Nora,

If you're reading this, then that man has taken everything and you've finally woken up. I knew he would. I saw what he was the moment I met him, but you were so blinded by love that nothing I said could reach you.

Don't waste time on guilt. Here's what you need to know:

The transfer documents are forged. I had the originals notarized and stored in a separate vault. Henry has the key.

The Ashford Group's real estate holdings—every building, every lease, every contract—sits on land owned by the Whitfield Trust. The trust was never dissolved. I made sure of that.

Your husband built his empire on sand. On MY sand.

Take it back.

—E.W.

I read it twice. Then a third time.

A laugh escaped me—raw, broken, and just a little bit wild.

"Mr. Sullivan, how long would it take to file an injunction against the Ashford Group for unauthorized use of Whitfield Trust properties?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Forty-eight hours if we expedite."

"Do it."

"Nora." His voice softened. "If you move against your husband, he will retaliate. You know what he's capable of."

I thought of the drain cleaner burning through my throat. The way Sienna had watched with a bored expression. The way Dominic had whispered, "You should have just behaved."

"I know exactly what he's capable of," I said. "That's why I'm not going to give him time to react."

Sullivan nodded slowly. A faint smile crossed his face—the kind a man wears when he sees his old friend's ghost rising from the ashes.

"Your grandmother would be proud."

I left his office with copies of the trust documents tucked inside my coat. My heart was hammering, but my steps were steady.

One hour and twelve minutes. That's how long I'd been gone.

I made it back to the estate, slipped through the garage, and walked into the house carrying two empty storage boxes I'd grabbed on the way.

Mrs. Finch was waiting in the hallway, arms crossed.

"Mr. Ashford has been asking for you."

"I was getting boxes." I held them up. "For the guest room."

She eyed me suspiciously but stepped aside.

I climbed the stairs and began clearing the guest room, folding linens and packing away books with the mechanical obedience of a woman who knew her place.

When Dominic appeared in the doorway twenty minutes later, I didn't look up.

"It'll be ready by tonight," I said.

He watched me for a moment, then grunted in approval and left.

I waited until his footsteps faded down the hall. Then I pulled out my phone and checked the message from Sullivan.

Filing begins tomorrow morning. Prepare yourself.

I slid the phone back into my pocket and smoothed the bedsheets for Sienna's new room.

Tomorrow, the woman sleeping in this bed would wake up to discover she had moved into a house that was about to be seized.

And the man who put her there would learn that his entire empire had been stolen property all along.

I almost smiled.

But then I heard Sienna's laugh drifting up from downstairs—bright, careless, confident—and the memory of my mother dying alone crashed through me like a wave.

No smiling. Not yet.

Not until they had lost everything.