She shakes her head. “No. I had a wife-schedule—things I should be doing. Early mornings at the country club, working out because I had to look good for him. It wasn’t about health. It wasn’t about me. It was about what he needed from me. There were charities I had to attend and . . . the list of things I hated to do but had to was lengthy.”

That sounds like hell. And since she’s opening up, since she’s giving me a piece of her past, I push a little further.

“Why did you marry him?”

She exhales, the knife pausing mid-slice. “My parents.” Her voice is quieter now like the words feel too big in her mouth. “It wasn’t a choice—it was an obligation. Something I had to do for the family.”

She presses her palm flat against the counter, staring down at the vegetables like they hold an answer she doesn’t have. “That’s how they raised me. Even when I didn’t like it. I was the heiress to some stupid family whose company needed a merger—I was part of the merger.”

I scrub a hand down my face. “That’s still a thing? Marriage of convenience?”

She huffs a small laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “In my parents’ world, it is. It’s not as obvious as in other cultures, but it’s there. You’re not allowed to fall in love. You just do what you’re told, or⁠—”

“What would’ve happened if you hadn’t done it?” I don’t even know why I ask. Curiosity? Maybe. Or maybe I want her response to be so cold, so shallow, that it finally breaks whatever hold she has on me.

“It wasn’t an option.” She swallows, dragging her knife through the last of the vegetables. “When I was in college, I tried to imagine a different life. One where I had a job, an apartment, something that belonged to me. Every time I brought it up, they shut the conversation down.” Her voice drops lower like she’s letting me in on something no one else knows. “They reminded me I owed them everything—my education, my life. That I would do what they needed me to do. I thought it would mean working for my father’s company, but instead . . . it was marrying Winston.”

I grip the edge of the counter. “And when you said no?”

“They told me I’d regret it.”

Hate twists in my chest. “You were afraid to go against their rules?”

She nods, slowly, like she’s finally admitting something out loud that she’s never let herself say before. “Yeah. My father had a heavy hand.” She exhales through her nose, jaw tight. “Literally and metaphorically. You don’t want to cross that man. Especially if you’re his.”