“I need to speak with you and your mother.”
Inside, Victor wasted no time.
“I’ll secure your husband’s early release, clear your debts, cover all medical costs. Your family will be set for life.”
He paused.
“On one condition. Marry me. Bear me a son. Doctors give me roughly one year.”
Clara gasped. “What?”
“Terminal illness,” Victor said calmly. “I want an heir before I go.”
Ava’s mind raced: fury, shame, then grim calculation. Her father behind bars. Her mother fading. Hunger that made her dizzy.
He’ll be dead soon anyway.
“What if I say no?” she asked.
“I’ll find someone else.”
Clara protested weakly, but Ava silenced her with a raised hand. Romance wasn’t an option. Survival was.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
“Heart condition. Twelve months, give or take.”
The civil ceremony happened in eleven days. No flowers, no vows of love—just signatures.
Victor moved her to his sprawling ranch outside Bozeman: polished floors, silent staff, echoing rooms. He was polite, distant, never affectionate. On their wedding night he was efficient, detached. Afterward, he slept instantly. Ava lay awake, cold.
Past midnight, unable to rest, she wandered the hall. Light spilled from his office door.