“The truth inside may be difficult to process.” I smoothed the fabric of my black cotton dress, the only nice piece of clothing I had owned before Harrison pulled me out of the east wing, and I stared at that envelope on the mahogany table between us.

“Is this his revised will, Mr.

Sterling?” I asked, and my voice came out thin and dry.

“Because if it’s about the estate, I’ve already told Harrison’s children they can have all of it.

The furniture, the private accounts, the art collection, all of it.

I never asked that man for a single dime.

I married him so that his son wouldn’t turn off his oxygen to speed up probate.

I don’t want his money.