She had loved him. Carefully, she thought. Thoughtfully. He had courted her with patience, flowers, church manners, soft promises, and exactly the right kind of restraint. He had made her believe there was still such a thing as love built on respect, family, and shared futures. He kissed her hand in front of donors and family friends. He spoke about legacy. About honor. About building a life.
And now, hidden like luggage in the dark, she heard the truth.
To him, she was not a woman.
She was an account.
A doorway.
A signature.
A bride in white smiling her way toward becoming prey.
By the time the tires left smooth pavement for uneven back roads, her tears had dried into something far sharper.
Rage.
The car stopped.
Trent opened his door and stepped out. “Wait here,” he told Daniel. “Ten minutes. I just need to say goodbye to my old life.”
His footsteps faded.
Then the trunk flew open.
Sunlight rushed in so hard Savannah had to squint. Daniel leaned over her, sweating, breath tight.
“Come on, ma’am. You need to see the rest for yourself.”