After signing the divorce papers, my mother-in-law gave me 24 hours to leave. I opened the safe, grabbed documents, and called a luxury car. She sneered, “Trying to show off now?” I smiled. “Tomorrow, you’ll understand exactly why.”

Her smile returned.

“Then what exactly would you ever come back for?”

I looked beyond her.

At the grand staircase.

The enormous windows.

The elegant rooms.

The company legacy that had been built, in part, on work they preferred to pretend was never mine.

“You’ll understand tomorrow.”

Then I got into the sedan.

The door closed.

The voices behind me disappeared.

As the car moved down the long driveway, I didn’t look back.

My hands were trembling.

But not because I wanted to return.

And not because I was afraid of Eleanor.

They were shaking because, after almost six years, I had finally walked away without asking anyone’s permission.

Leaving the estate wasn’t the end.

It was only the beginning.

Because tomorrow, the documents in my bag were going to force the Rhodes family to confront everything they had spent years pretending didn’t exist.