You were a daughter of a prestigious family, married into the Russ household at twenty, becoming Keegan’s father’s wife. Yet the glamorous marriage didn’t last long. The man died suddenly, without even leaving a will. By law, the vast inheritance would be divided between you and Keegan.

You, of course, would never be satisfied with just half. So, taking advantage of his eighteenth birthday, you organized a lavish coming-of-age party for him. At the banquet, he was surrounded by classmates on the dance floor, a handsome young man in his prime. Girls clung to his arms, the scent of perfume and alcohol curling around him. To anyone watching, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

You smiled as you slipped away, already calculating: once he drank himself senseless, you would coax him into signing the contract, voluntarily giving up his claim to the inheritance. Late that night, the mansion grew quiet. You sat in the study, a single lamp casting a dim glow, your fingers tapping against the stack of documents as you waited patiently.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

Keegan stormed in. His suit jacket hung open, chest rising and falling as he moved toward you. He carried the scent of alcohol, but there was nothing unsteady in his step.

You froze for the briefest moment, then slipped your practiced smile back into place. “So late, and you’re not resting?”

He advanced until his palm pressed against the desk beside you, leaning down, his voice low and edged with danger:

“You were waiting for me, weren’t you?”