Dad had sent one message from the next room.
DO NOT LET HIM TAKE THE PAPERS.
I looked at Owen.
“Leave them here.”
“Why?”
“So I can read them in the morning.”
“I’ll keep them with my things.”
“You want me to sign them. Leave them.”
He studied me.
I smiled.
“You trust me, right?”
His own line.
Returned.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Owen set the envelope back on the nightstand.
“Of course.”
He stood.
“I’m going to shower.”
The bathroom door closed.
The lock clicked.
I moved immediately.
The sitting-room door opened.
Dad entered first.
Rebecca behind him.
Neither spoke.
I handed Rebecca the envelope.
She pulled out the pages.
Her eyes moved quickly.
At the second page, her mouth tightened.
At the signature page, she stopped.
“This isn’t closing housekeeping.”
“I know.”
Dad whispered, “What is it?”
“A reimbursement agreement.”
“Meaning?”
Rebecca looked at me.
“It appears designed to strengthen an argument that Owen retained a financial interest despite title being in Mara’s name.”
“Could he take the condo?”
“Property law isn’t that simple. A receipt does not magically override title. But this signature could create significant leverage.”
She turned the page.
“And this refers to an Exhibit B that isn’t here.”
“Exactly.”
Rebecca photographed every page.
Then she returned them to the envelope exactly as she found them.
“Do not sign.”
“I won’t.”
The shower stopped.
Dad and Rebecca disappeared back through the adjoining door.
Thirty seconds later, Owen emerged wearing hotel slippers and a robe.
He looked toward the nightstand.
The envelope was still there.
His posture relaxed.
He smiled at me.
“Come here.”
I stared at him.
Once, I had loved the way he smiled when we were alone.
Now I could hear his voice laughing with his mother.
Her father is a nobody.
Mara will be grateful for whatever we let her keep.
“I need to take off this dress.”
“Need help?”
“No.”
I went into the dressing area and closed the door.
My hands shook as I removed my wedding gown.
Not because I was afraid of Owen physically.
He had never threatened me that way.
It was worse in a different sense.
I had no idea which memories were real anymore.
Was the proposal real?
Were the bookstore dates?
The coffee?
The birthdays?
Had he planned this from the beginning?
Or had greed slowly entered the relationship until I became something to manage?
I changed into a robe.
When I returned, Owen was lying against the headboard scrolling through his phone.
“Mom wants us at brunch at ten.”
“I’m not going.”
His eyes lifted.
“What?”
“I’m exhausted.”
“She’ll be offended.”
I almost laughed.
“Lorraine?”
“Yes.”
“She’ll survive.”
He frowned.
“You know how she is.”
Yes.
I did now.
Owen placed his phone aside.
“Tomorrow matters to her.”
“Our wedding night mattered to me.”
Something flashed across his face.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
He stared for another second.
Then he softened.
“You’re tired.”
“So are you.”
He reached for me.
I stepped away.
“I need sleep.”
That was the first boundary.
Small.
Almost invisible.
But it changed the air between us.
Owen slept eventually.
I did not.
I lay on the far side of the bed listening to his breathing.
At 3:17 a.m., he turned toward me.
His hand landed near my waist.
I moved away.
At 4:06, Dad texted.
Rebecca and I are next door. You are not alone.
I read the sentence three times.
At 6:40, Owen woke.
He looked at the envelope before he looked at me.
That was all I needed to see.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning.”
He leaned in.
I turned my face and his lips landed near my temple.
He sat back.
“What’s wrong?”
“Headache.”
“Champagne.”
“Probably.”
He stood and began dressing.
“Sign that before brunch?”
“No.”
His hands stopped on a shirt button.
“Mara.”
“I’m having Rebecca look at it.”
For one second, his face emptied completely.
“Rebecca?”
“Rebecca Sloan.”
“How do you know her?”
“She’s Dad’s attorney.”
Silence.
Then he laughed.
Too loudly.
“You’re sending a simple condo acknowledgment to your father’s corporate lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“That seems dramatic.”
“Why?”
“It’s unnecessary.”
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem.”
His eyes moved toward the envelope.
“Mara, Richard already reviewed it.”
“Richard represents you.”
“He represents the transaction.”
“Then Rebecca can represent me.”
He buttoned the rest of his shirt slowly.
“You’re making this strange.”
“No. I’m reading something before signing it.”
His jaw shifted.
“That isn’t strange.”
I wanted to tell him everything.
I wanted to press play.
I wanted Lorraine’s voice to fill the room.
I wanted to watch his face when he heard himself call my father a nobody.
But Dad had told me not to confront him yet.
Rebecca had agreed.
