He forgot whose money bought the house.
He forgot who built Lang & Vale Holdings before he married into it.
Most of all, he forgot I had spent twenty years negotiating with men who smiled while hiding knives.
I took the forged consent form, folded it once, and tucked it into my purse.
Then I went home to my husband.
Victor was waiting in the kitchen with champagne.
It sat sweating in a silver bucket beside two glasses, as if he already knew what my ultrasound had revealed. His mother, Claudine, sat at the counter in pearls. Lila stood by the window, one hand resting lightly over her flat stomach.
My baby’s heartbeat still echoed in my bones.
Victor smiled. “Well?”
I set my purse on the table. “I’m pregnant.”
For one perfect second, every mask slipped.
Lila’s mouth parted. Claudine’s glass paused midair. Victor’s smile froze like brittle plaster.
Then he recovered.
“At forty-five?” he said softly, cruelly. “Mara, are you sure?”
Claudine sighed. “Nature can be confusing at your age.”
