My friends were Julian’s friends. Our staff reported to my stepmother. My old school contacts knew the version of me printed in society pages.
Then I thought of one person.
“Nora,” I said.
Dante tilted his head.
“My mother’s attorney. She disappeared from our lives after Mom died. My father said she retired.”
Dante’s eyes sharpened.
“What was her last name?”
“Bellamy.”
His face changed.
Not much. Enough.
“You know her,” I said.
“I know of her.”
“Dante.”
He looked toward the rain-dark window.
“Nora Bellamy didn’t retire. She went into hiding.”
The hospital room seemed to tilt.
“Why?”
“Because your mother’s will vanished.”
I stopped breathing.
Miles pushed himself up on one elbow. “Mom had a will?”
Dante’s silence answered before his mouth did.
“Yes.”
“My father said she left everything to him,” I whispered.
“He lied.”
The words did not hit like thunder.
They settled quietly, horribly, like dust over a room that had been locked for years.
Dante looked at me then.
“Your mother left controlling interest in Whitmore Holdings to you. Miles was to receive his medical trust and voting shares when he turned eighteen.”
Miles stared at him.
“My birthday is in three weeks.”
“Yes,” Dante said.
I looked down at the purchase agreement again.
The date on the document was three days ago.
Three weeks before Miles became legally untouchable.
Julian did not just want a wife.
He wanted the company.
My father had not sold us because he was desperate.
He had sold us because he was running out of time.
A laugh rose in my throat, but it broke before it reached my mouth.
“He was going to marry me into Julian’s family, hand Miles over, and bury the will forever.”
Dante nodded.