“Once we’re married,” Tund continued, “everything transfers smoothly. The shares, the estate, the offshore accounts. Her father structured it so her husband gains primary authority after marriage.”
The other man gave a low whistle. “That’s a lot of power.”
“It’s more than power,” Tund said. “It’s control.”
Amara’s fingers tightened around her clutch.
No. She had to be misunderstanding.
“She won’t even realize what she’s signing,” he added. “I already had the documents adjusted. By the time she notices—if she notices—it’ll be too late.”
The world seemed to tilt beneath her.
“And if she refuses?” the man asked.
There was a pause.
Then Tund said, in a voice colder than anything Amara had ever heard, “Then she won’t have a choice.”
Something inside her shattered.
Every promise. Every smile. Every kiss. Every word he had ever spoken to her twisted into something ugly and calculated.
She stepped back slowly, slipped off her heels so they wouldn’t betray her, and walked silently away.
When she returned to the ballroom, nothing had changed.
Music still floated through the room.
Champagne glasses still clinked.
Guests still smiled.
But Amara’s life had split cleanly into two pieces: before that hallway, and after it.
A few moments later, Tund emerged, calm and perfect, adjusting his cufflinks as though he had not just destroyed her world.
