Chapter 4

At home, I told my parents everything.

My father listened through all of it, looked at every photo, and asked a few quiet questions. Then he said only: "Cancel the wedding. Get the flat back. Cut him off."

My mother stood up without a word, went to the cabinet, and came back with the sale receipt from the Surrey house — the payment record from when she'd transferred £240,000 to me.

She pressed it into my hands.

"Take all of it." Her eyes were red. "They get nothing."

I hadn't expected that. I'd expected tears and questions and — somewhere — the quiet suggestion that maybe I should have handled things differently.

Instead: straight to my side. Instantly.

My mother collected the wedding favour boxes one by one. She was crying as she packed them.

"I was going to see you properly married tomorrow."

She pressed her lips together.

"Never mind. Better off without someone like that."

That night, I didn't sleep.

My phone went constantly: Conrad first, then his mother, then the wedding planner, then the hotel coordinator, then relatives who'd been told the schedule had changed.

At one in the morning, Conrad's mother sent a voice message.

Stella, you're being very unreasonable. It doesn't matter whose name is on the deed — when you're married you'll all be one family. Harper is an old friend of Conrad's, she's going through a difficult time, where's the harm in helping her? You're making this into a disaster over nothing. I'm asking you — are you going to ruin tomorrow?

I transcribed it and sent it to Elliot.

He replied with six words.

Good. Let her keep talking.

I lay against the headboard and thought: I'm done holding back.

I called Patricia Dunmore back, with the recording app running.

She launched straight in.

"What are you doing, making the whole family look like this—"

"Patricia." I cut her off. "I paid for that flat in full."

"You paid, so what? You're marrying into this family. Women who keep score of everything like this — honestly. A good marriage is about finding your place, not clinging to money. My son chose to marry you. That's worth more than a property deed."

"Then why didn't he marry Harper and let her be the one to choose him?"

She stumbled. Her voice went up.

"That was years ago. Don't drag up old history. Harper is unwell, she's just back from abroad, she needs somewhere to stay — is a little generosity so hard for you? You're going to be Conrad's wife. Act like it."

I kept my voice measured.

"Your idea of acting like his wife is: I pay £860,000, someone else's name goes on the deed, and I should feel grateful?"

She turned vicious.

"Stella Fairfax, watch yourself. Conrad agreed to marry you because you're sensible and uncomplicated. If you keep behaving like this, who's going to want you after? Think about your reputation."

I held the record button. I didn't feel angry any more.

I felt almost grateful.

"Patricia," I said softly, "are you saying that I should pay for a flat, let them put someone else's name on the deed, and still walk down the aisle tomorrow full of gratitude?"

"That flat will be yours to live in anyway. What's the point of counting every penny?"

"Understood. Thank you."

I ended the call. Saved the recording. Sent it to Elliot.

He replied a few minutes later.

Good. Come in tomorrow, we'll file.

He added: The wedding. Are you going?

I stared at that message.

Yes.

Good. Go. Let them look like fools.