Chapter 4

The study was a room Vivian had never been allowed to sit in. It was Marcus's domain, lined with leather-bound books that no one ever read, dominated by a mahogany desk that had belonged to his grandfather. When Sergeant Millbrook led Rosa inside and closed the door, Vivian felt the weight of the house pressing down on her.

Theo slept on in his bassinet, undisturbed by the drama unfolding around him. A six-day-old infant, oblivious to the fact that the entire future of his family was being determined in the next room.

"Marcus." Helena's voice was silk again, smooth and controlled. "Sit down. You look tired."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're exhausted. You've been working too hard, and you're not thinking clearly." She gestured to the empty chair at the table. "Sit. Eat something. We'll talk when this is over."

"I'm not hungry."

"Marcus." Victor's voice was heavier, more direct. "Don't be a fool. You're listening to a housekeeper over your own mother? Your own brother?"

"I'm listening to the only person in this house who's told me the truth tonight."

Victor's face reddened. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then explain it to me." Marcus held up the paper he still held, the draft that Rosa had found. "Explain why my wife's name is on this document. Explain why my son's name is on this document. Explain why you and Helena drafted a legal agreement that uses my family as leverage."

"It's not leverage," Victor said. "It's protection. Investment protection."

"Protection from what?"

Victor glanced at Helena. She gave him a small nod.

"From you," Victor said. "From the inevitable divorce."

The words hit the room like a physical blow. Vivian felt them land, felt her chest tighten, felt the floor tilt beneath her.

"What?" Marcus's voice was barely a whisper.

"Don't play innocent." Victor crossed his arms, his gold ring catching the light. "You think we don't know? You think we can't see? She's distant, she's cold, she's withdrawing from you —"

"I'm exhausted," Vivian said. Her voice was thin, but it held. "I just had a baby. I'm bleeding. I haven't slept in six days."

"Of course you're exhausted," Helena said, her voice warm for the first time all night. "That's exactly what I've been saying. You need rest. You need help. You need —"

"Different family?" Vivian finished.

Helena blinked. "I was going to say 'a proper support system.'"

"She's not leaving," Marcus said. "She's not going anywhere."

"Marcus." Helena stepped closer, her burgundy dress whispering against the floor. "I'm not your enemy. I'm your mother. I want what's best for you. And right now, what's best for you is not —" She paused. "Not the situation you're in."

"What situation?"

Helena's eyes flicked to Vivian. "You were barely a year into this marriage when you got pregnant. And then the delivery was — difficult. Traumatic. You're not in a position to be making decisions. Anyone can see that."

"I'm not making decisions," Vivian said. "I'm lying on the floor of my own dining room because I'm too weak to stand up."

"Exactly." Helena spread her hands. "You need care. Professional care."

"Professional care." Vivian repeated the words slowly. Something was forming in her mind, a shape she didn't like. "What kind of professional care?"

"An assistant," Helena said. "Someone to help you with Theo. Someone to manage the household. Someone to give you the rest you need."

"And that person would be —"

"Chosen by me."