Chapter 2
Ryan stared at me from the other side of the iron gate like he had never seen me before.
Maybe he hadn’t.
For eleven months, he had known the version of me who wore simple dresses, drove a five-year-old car, and never talked about money.
He had assumed that meant I didn’t have any.
His mother, Diane, was still shouting at the security guards.
“This is my son’s marital home!”
“No,” I said calmly. “It isn’t.”
Ryan pushed past her.
“Emily, stop this.”
I almost laughed.
Twenty minutes earlier, he had thrown a broom at my face.
Now he wanted to speak like the reasonable one.
“You told me to leave,” I reminded him.
“I was angry.”
“And I listened.”
His expression tightened.
“You’re my wife.”
“That didn’t seem important when you called me your maid.”
Diane pointed at me.
“She trapped you!”
I looked at her.
“How?”
“You never told us this house was yours!”
“That’s not a trap. That’s privacy.”
Ryan’s face changed.
That was when I realized the humiliation mattered more to him than what he had done.
He lowered his voice.
“How much is this house worth?”
There it was.
Not an apology.
Not regret.
A number.
I folded my arms.
“Enough.”
“Emily.”
“Go to a hotel.”
“We’re married.”
“For approximately twenty-five hours.”
His eyes flashed.
“You can’t throw me away after one argument.”
“One argument?”
I stepped closer to the gate.
“You threw something at my face. Your mother ordered me to clean after her. You grabbed my arm when I refused. Then you ordered me out of a home you didn’t own.”
Diane scoffed.
“Oh, please. Families fight.”
“Not mine.”
She laughed cruelly.
“That explains a lot. Your rich daddy spoiled you.”
My stomach tightened.
My father had been dead for three years.
Ryan knew that.
Before I could answer, Ryan snapped at his mother.
“Mom. Stop.”
It was the first time he had defended me all night.
Too late.
Diane turned on him.
“I’m trying to protect you!”
“By making this worse?”
“You married her!”
“And apparently I married a millionaire without knowing it!”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Not because he was wrong.
Because of the way he said millionaire.
Like husband had suddenly become investor.
I looked at the guards.
“Are their bags outside?”
“Yes, Ms. Carter.”
Ryan frowned.
“Carter?”
I froze.
During our relationship, I had used my mother’s maiden name professionally.
Emily Hayes.
My legal name had remained Emily Carter.
Ryan knew that much.
But the guard’s tone made him suspicious.
“What does he mean, Ms. Carter?”
I said nothing.
Diane stopped yelling.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Carter.”
She repeated it slowly.
Then her face changed.
“No.”
Ryan looked between us.
“What?”
Diane stepped closer to the gate.
“Carter like Carter Development?”
I didn’t answer.
Ryan went pale.
My grandfather had founded Carter Development forty-six years earlier.
Office towers.
Hotels.
Apartment projects.
Shopping centers.
The company had been sold after my father died.
But the family trust remained very much alive.
Ryan stared at me.
“You said your father worked in real estate.”
“He did.”
“You said you inherited some property.”
“I did.”
“You never said—”
“I never lied.”
His voice rose.
“You let me pay for dinners!”
I blinked.
That was his complaint.
Not the broom.
Dinner.
“You insisted.”
“You let me think you needed me.”
“No, Ryan. You decided I needed you.”
His jaw clenched.
Diane grabbed his arm.
“Don’t stand there begging. Call a lawyer.”
I nodded.
“Please do.”
Ryan’s eyes sharpened.
“Maybe I will.”
“Good.”
He looked toward the mansion behind me.
For the first time, I saw calculation replace anger.
He wasn’t thinking about reconciliation anymore.
He was thinking about ownership.
Then my phone rang.
My attorney, Claire Benton.
I answered.
“Emily?”
“Yes.”
“Are you alone?”
I glanced at Ryan.
“Not exactly.”
Claire’s voice became serious.
“I need you to go inside and lock the office.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“There was an access attempt on the Carter Family Trust account twenty minutes ago.”
I stared at Ryan.
He was already holding his phone.
“From where?”
May you like
Claire paused.
“From an IP address registered to your home.”
