The ledgers lie open in the study, each column marking how deeply Lachlan Valemont owns my crumbling manor. I stand beside him, defiant yet desperate. Every audit ends with me waiting to hear what he wants instead of money.

I know exactly what his discipline demands next. It is the bare skin he will claim and the legacy he intends to leave inside me. Every reason I have to hate him burns off against the fear of losing my only home. The heat of his hand on mine settles the argument every time. I could take the debt elsewhere. There is nowhere else, and he knows it.