I'd smiled through every slight, maintained my composure in front of cameras, then gone home and driven my nails into my palms until they bled.
And for what?
When the kidnappers called, Rhys had dismissed it like spam.
If he'd cared even a fraction—sent someone to check, made one call—we might have lived.
But his world had only ever had room for Janet Fox.
Now, reborn, Joan and I had no interest in fighting over scraps of a man who'd let us die.
"Well then," Savannah said briskly, moving on, "the wedding will be in two weeks. The old master doesn't have long, and seeing Rhys married is his final wish."
"Wait."
Joan raised a hand, her voice carrying across the room.
"An alliance requires sincerity, Mrs. Gilbert. The Hensons are prepared to cede our West End territories." Her eyes locked onto Rhys, cold and unwavering. "But in return, your son cuts ties with Janet Fox. Completely."
She was nothing like me.
I'd been raised to endure in silence. In my previous life, even after learning about Janet Fox's existence, I'd refused to make a scene.
A girlhood full of quiet longing had left me clinging to fantasies about Rhys—foolish hopes that marriage would change him, that he'd finally settle down.