Then he said, “I was told only the husband had to die.”

The room went still.

My blood turned to ice.

The detective snapped, “Told by who?”

Owen’s mouth twisted.

Before he could answer, his lawyer placed a hand on his shoulder and ended the interview.

But I had heard enough.

Victor found me in the hallway afterward. “Grief makes people imagine things.”

I stared at him.

He crouched beside my wheelchair, voice low. “Take the settlement, Mara. Leave town. People like you don’t survive wars with people like us.”

I wiped the blood from the corner of my lip where I had bitten down too hard.

Then I smiled.

“Victor,” I whispered, “you have no idea what kind of woman your brother married.”

Because Daniel had known his family was dangerous.

And three days before our wedding, he had handed me a locked black drive, kissed my forehead, and said, “If anything ever happens to me, open this.”

That night, alone in my hospital room, I asked my old law-school mentor to bring me a laptop.

My hands trembled.

But not from fear.

From rage….