I lifted the suitcase handle and started for the door.

Julian moved to block me.

"You are not walking out of this house," he said.

His voice had dropped to something quieter and more dangerous than shouting.

"Not today.

Not like this."

"Step aside, Julian."

"That money belongs to this family.

You have been in this marriage for fourteen hours.

You don't get to walk out with forty-five thousand dollars."

"I didn't say it belonged to the marriage," I said.

"I said it belonged to me."

He reached out and grabbed my wrist.

Not hard enough to leave a mark.

Just hard enough to make a point.

I looked down at his hand.

Then I looked up at him.

"Let go," I said.

Something in my voice made him do it.

Victoria was still in the hallway.

She had her phone pressed to her ear and she was speaking in a low, tight voice I had never heard from her before.

Not the smooth, satisfied tone she had used downstairs.

This was something else.

Something close to fear.

"He needs to come now," she was saying.

"No.

Now, Robert.

I'm not — just come."

I wheeled the suitcase past Julian and into the hall.

"Elena." Julian followed me.

"I'm telling you, if you walk out that door, I will have that check frozen by Monday morning.

My father knows every banking attorney in this city."

I stopped at the top of the stairs.

"Julian," I said, turning to face him.

"Do you know what my job was before I met you?"

He blinked.

"You worked in finance.

Some mid-level position."

"I was a senior compliance officer at Hargrove Capital for six years." I watched his face.

"I spent those six years reviewing fraudulent asset transfers.

I know exactly what a legally binding cashier's check looks like.

I know exactly whose name has to be on it.

And I know exactly what happens when someone attempts to freeze an instrument they have no legal claim to."

The vein near his temple reappeared.

"You're bluffing."

"The check clears Tuesday," I said.

"Try me before then."

I turned and walked down the stairs.

Victoria had ended her call.

She stood at the bottom of the staircase, and for one moment she simply looked at me — not with the triumphant smile from the kitchen, but with something that looked almost like recalculation.

"You should sit down," she said.

"Robert is coming.

We can discuss this like adults."

"There is nothing to discuss."

"Elena." Her voice sharpened.

"You don't understand what you're walking into.

There are things about this family — about that money — that you do not know."

I reached the bottom step.

"Then you should have told me before the wedding," I said.

I walked past her, pulled open the front door, and stepped into the morning air.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket before I reached the end of the driveway.

An unknown number.

I almost ignored it.

I answered.

A man's voice.

Older.

Controlled.

"Elena.

This is Robert Mercer.

Julian's father.

I think we need to talk before you make a decision you cannot undo."

I stopped walking.

Robert Mercer had not attended our wedding.

Julian had said his father was traveling.

Business in Europe.

Unavoidable.

But his voice did not sound like a man calling from overseas.

It sounded like a man calling from very close by.

"How did you get this number?" I said.

A pause.

"I've had it for some time," he said.

"Please don't go to the bank today.

There is something you need to hear first.

Something about why Julian married you."