“Claire,” he said through his teeth, “don’t start.”
I looked at his hand, then at him.
“Take your hand off me.”
His father, Richard, approached with a whiskey.
“Everything okay?”
Derek released me instantly.
“She’s emotional.”
Richard chuckled. “Wedding nerves.”
I entered the bridal suite and locked the door.
Lena was already waiting.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I know.”
“We can leave through the kitchen.”
“Not yet.”
Her eyes widened. “Claire—”
“I need them to believe I’m staying.”
I cleaned the frosting from my face while Lena opened her laptop.
For six weeks, she’d helped me organize evidence.
Derek controlled our household account, but he never understood my actual finances. Before I met him, I’d spent twelve years building a medical-software company with my college roommate. When we sold controlling interest, I kept enough equity to become independently wealthy.
Derek knew I had money.
He just didn’t know how much.
And he assumed marriage would give him access to it.
That assumption made him careless.
