Freedom from Wedding Trap

The kitchen in the Perry mansion was always coldest at dawn. I stood at the marble countertop, my fingers trembling slightly as I arranged fresh-cut flowers beside the silver breakfast platters. Four hours of sleep had become my new normal—just enough to keep functioning while juggling Danny's needs, Sarah's medical appointments, and my duties as Duke's... whatever I was to him now.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed six times. Right on schedule.

"Katherine." Duke's voice cut through the morning quiet like a blade. He never used my name with warmth anymore.

I turned, careful to keep my expression neutral as he entered with Skylar clinging to his arm. She wore a cream silk blouse that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, her blonde hair styled in perfect waves that bounced as she walked.

"The coffee smells awful," Skylar announced, wrinkling her nose as she surveyed the breakfast spread I'd been preparing since four a.m. "Too weak. You should use the Ethiopian beans Duke bought last week."

I hadn't seen any Ethiopian beans. Then again, I wasn't exactly privy to Duke's shopping habits these days.

"I'll make a fresh pot," I said quietly, reaching for the coffee machine.

"Don't bother," Duke replied, not even looking at me as he helped Skylar settle into a chair. "We're running late. The Henderson meeting starts at seven-thirty."

Skylar's wrist caught the morning light as she reached for a pastry, drawing my attention to the diamond bracelet glittering there. My breath caught in my throat.

That bracelet. I'd seen it in the Tiffany catalog just last month—$195,000. The exact amount I'd had saved in Sarah's medical fund before our marriage.

"Is that new?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Skylar's smile widened as she noticed my stare. "This old thing? Duke surprised me yesterday. Wasn't that sweet of him?"

Duke finally looked at me, his gray eyes cold and unreadable. "The account was in my name as your husband. Legally, it's mine to spend as I see fit."

My phone rang before I could respond. The hospital. My heart lurched as I answered.

"Ms. Olson? This is Dr. Martinez at Saint Mary's. Your sister's condition has deteriorated significantly. She needs immediate surgery—we're talking about a matter of days, not weeks."

"How much?" I asked, already knowing the answer wouldn't be good.

"Two hundred thousand dollars. The procedure is experimental, but it's her best chance."

I ended the call and rushed to my laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as I logged into the medical fund account. The balance stared back at me: $27,341.23.

"That's impossible," I whispered, scrolling through the transaction history.

Withdrawal after withdrawal. All authorized by Duke Perry.

---

"Ms. Olson, I need to be honest with you." Mr. Harrison, the divorce attorney, removed his glasses as he studied my case files. "A divorce from someone with Mr. Perry's resources and connections won't be easy."

"But he's draining my sister's medical fund," I said, my voice cracking.