the smallest nod.
Derek pulled me against his chest.
“There she is,” he murmured. “Good girl.”
I smiled.
Not because he had won.
Because inside the tiny pearl button sewn beneath the neckline of my dress was a miniature audio recorder.
And in Lena’s purse was a sealed envelope containing photographs, medical records, bank statements, and a signed copy of a document Derek had never bothered to read.
Our prenuptial agreement.
Specifically, the domestic-abuse clause his attorney had laughed about.
One verified assault after marriage would trigger immediate financial separation,
