Chapter 4

I paid the forty-five-thousand-dollar monthly mortgage on this mansion. My mansion.

I paid for the groceries they ate, the fine wines they drank, the electricity they used without a second thought. I employed the staff of housekeepers and gardeners that kept this place running.

I was not a wife or a daughter-in-law. I was a walking, talking ATM.

My clinic, my surgical practice, was the bedrock of their entire world. My name, respected globally, gave them a prestige they hadn't earned in generations. I worked eighty-hour weeks, performing complex, life-saving surgeries, so they could live in idle luxury.

And they treated the woman who had abandoned them better than they treated me.

Dahlia detached herself from Beverley and glided towards me. A smug, pitying smile played on her lips. She was wearing a dress that I knew cost at least ten thousand dollars. More than Connor made in a month.

"Jenna," she said, her voice like honey laced with poison. "I am so sorry about the travel mix-up. I feel just terrible."

She placed a delicate hand on her chest. "I told Connor I could fly commercial, but he absolutely refused. He was so insistent that I be comfortable. You know how he is."

Kourtney giggled from behind her. "Connor knows Dahlia is delicate. Not like you, Jenna. You're practically indestructible."

Dahlia smiled at Kourtney, a shared moment of mockery at my expense. They were laughing at me.

The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity. They knew the route was dangerous. They knew and they didn't care. Maybe they even hoped something would happen to me.

Connor must have seen the look on my face because he stepped forward, pulling out his wallet. It was a wallet I had bought him.

He took out a credit card. My credit card.

"Here," he said, trying to press it into my hand. "Take this. Buy yourself something nice when you get to Monaco. A little something for your trouble."

I stared at the card, then at his face. The sheer, unmitigated audacity of it all.

I pushed his hand away.

"If you want to buy my forgiveness," I said, my voice as cold as a tomb, "it's going to cost you a lot more than that."

He looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

"A million dollars," I said flatly. "Transfer one million dollars into my personal account. Right now. For my 'trouble'."

Connor stared at me, his mouth hanging open. "A million dollars? Are you insane? Where am I supposed to get a million dollars?"

He let out a short, sharp laugh. "You should be grateful I let you spend your own money, Jenna. Don't forget who protects this family."