I signed the Ashford Clause twenty minutes before I married Julian Vane: no other wife, no mistress, no consort. He signed without reading, kissed my forehead, and called it a formality. At midnight, he didn't turn on the lights. He told me he had a three-year-old son. The mother, Elara, had lived on the east side of his estate for four years. Tomorrow I was to move them into the main house and raise the boy as a Vane. The clause? A piece of paper, he said. No court would enforce it. But Ashford women don't fight with tears. We fight with the law—and we keep copies. When I meet Elara, she isn't my enemy. She's another woman he lied to. He expected us to tear each other apart. He expected me to obey. He forgot who taught me to make sure.