Samuel controlled all our bank accounts, screened every phone call I got, and told all our friends I was becoming emotionally unstable.

Joyce had moved into our house under the pretense of staying “temporarily,” but she spent her days inspecting my meals, criticizing my clothes, even timing exactly how long I spent in the shower.

Every dark bruise on my skin had a convenient explanation, and every vicious insult became a joke I was apparently just too sensitive to get.

But they’d both completely forgotten who I’d been before I entered this marriage.

Before Samuel talked me into giving up my public life as a high-stakes attorney specializing in complex financial fraud, I’d been a force to be reckoned with.

More important, the sprawling estate we lived in wasn’t actually his property at all.