On my wedding night, I slipped under the bed, my veil tangled in my hair, laughing at one last childish prank … until the door creaked open. My husband’s voice sounded gentle — then his mother’s cut in cold: “Did you give it to her?” He exhaled. “She drank it. She’s about to PASS OUT.” My breath caught as their footsteps stopped inches from me. “Good,” she whispered. “Once she’s unconscious, bring the papers. By morning … she’ll wake up with NOTHING.” I clenched my teeth until they hurt …

My throat tightened instantly.

The champagne I had sipped downstairs—the one that had tasted sweeter than usual—turned bitter in my stomach.

“Good,” Victoria Hale said.
“When she’s unconscious, bring the papers. Tomorrow morning… she wakes up with nothing.”

Their footsteps stopped.

Right beside the bed.

My fingers pressed into the carpet so hard it hurt.

Daniel exhaled slowly.

“Mother… she might notice.”

Victoria laughed.

Soft.

Controlled.

Cruel.

“Notice what?” she said.
“That she signed documents while intoxicated on her wedding night? Poor Elena. Emotional. Overwhelmed. No father. No brothers. No one to stand up for her.”