I stared at my sister.

“What?”

“He knew.”

“How could he?”

“Because I told him.”

“When?”

“About six months ago.”

The corridor seemed to shift around me. Nothing had physically moved, but one unexpected piece of information had changed the meaning of everything around us.

“You told Dad I was married?”

“I only discovered it by accident.”

“Who told you?”

“Mom.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“Mom knew about Elias?”

Sophie nodded.

A cold sensation settled somewhere beneath my ribs.

“For how long?”

“I’m not completely sure.”

“Then tell me what you know.”

“Clara—”

“When did she find out?”

Sophie’s eyes flickered toward the ballroom doors.

“Last year.”

A short, humorless laugh escaped me.

“So both of them knew.”

“I don’t believe they knew the whole story.”

“What exactly is the whole story?”

“That you and Elias had been married for three years. That you shared a home. That he’d been helping you with your studio.”

My attention suddenly sharpened.

“What did Dad know about my studio?”

Sophie hesitated.

“Tell me.”

“He knew money was coming to you from somewhere.”

“None of that money was coming from him.”

“I know.”

“Then what are you trying to say?”

She leaned closer and lowered her voice.

“Dad’s company has been trying to purchase the building where your studio is located.”

For several seconds, the only thing I could make out was the distant, muffled music.

My studio occupied the ground floor of an aging brick building close to the river. I operated a small design and restoration company there. It wasn’t glamorous, but it belonged to me. I’d spent years growing it little by little, accepting furniture repair jobs, custom commissions, and architectural salvage projects.

After our marriage, Elias had helped me secure the space, although the deed was in my name.

The building’s owner had mentioned that a property development group wanted to purchase the whole block.

I’d refused to sell.

“His company submitted an offer,” Sophie continued. “And you rejected it.”

“I rejected three offers.”

“I know.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because Dad was furious about it.”

I stared at her.

“He never brought any of this up with me.”

“He said you were being difficult.”

“He wanted my building?”

“He wants the entire block. I think he’s planning some kind of hotel development.”

None of it seemed to make sense.

My father had publicly mocked me for attending the wedding alone. For years, he had dismissed my work, describing it as a hobby. He liked to say that my studio was simply somewhere I went to “play with old furniture.”

Yet apparently, he understood its value well enough to pursue the property himself.

And all along, he had known about Elias.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” I demanded.

Sophie’s eyes began filling with tears.

“Because Dad said if I mentioned it, you’d believe I was trying to convince you to sell. And because—”

“Because what?”

Shame crossed her face.

“Because he said the sale could benefit us.”

Her admission was barely louder than a whisper.

“Us?”

“Ben and me. Our wedding expenses ended up much higher than we’d planned. Dad promised to pay whatever was left if the development deal happened.”

I felt the color drain from my face.

Sophie reached toward me, but I moved away.

“You let him keep trying to take my building because the money would pay for your wedding?”

“No.”

“You knew he wanted to buy it.”

“I knew he was interested. I didn’t realize what lengths he might go to.”

“You knew plenty.”

“I made a mistake.”

“Yes, you did.”

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, but I couldn’t bring myself to comfort her.

Not yet.

She glanced toward the lobby where Elias was waiting before looking at me again.

“I never wanted you to lose your studio.”

“You just couldn’t stand the possibility of losing your wedding.”

“That’s unfair.”

“No,” I replied. “It certainly isn’t fair.”

We remained there without speaking, the corridor filled with the fragrance of fresh roses and expensive perfume.

Then Sophie spoke again.

“There’s something else.”

I closed my eyes.

Of course there was.

“Keep going.”

“Dad didn’t handle the purchase offer personally.”

“Then who did?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

“Sophie.”

“Two weeks ago, I overheard him speaking with someone in his study. He said they needed to be careful with the paperwork because you might figure out the connection.”

“What connection?”

“He brought up Elias.”

My heartbeat accelerated.

“What did he say about him?”

“I can’t remember his exact words.”

“Try to remember.”

“He said something about your husband having an interest in the property.”

“That can’t be right.”

“I didn’t think it could be either.”

“Elias has no ownership interest in my building.”

“I’m not claiming he does. I’m only repeating what I overheard.”

I turned toward the lobby.

Elias was standing beside the glass entrance doors, speaking to the wedding coordinator. His expression appeared relaxed, but the instant he met my eyes, he stopped paying attention to the conversation.

He must have recognized something was wrong.

He excused himself and walked back toward us.

“What happened?” he asked.

I looked straight at him.

“Have you ever had a financial interest in the building where I run my studio?”

His expression shifted.

It wasn’t guilt.

It was something far more difficult to interpret.

“Sophie told you.”

“Told me what?”

“That your father has been attempting to purchase the property.”

“Yes, he has.”

“And that you own an interest in it.”

Elias didn’t answer immediately.

His silence told me more than words could have.

I felt as though the ground had moved beneath my feet.

“You do have an interest.”

“It’s not what you’re imagining.”

“That sentence almost never makes anyone feel better.”

Sophie stepped aside to give us room, although she remained close enough to hear.

Elias dragged a hand across his jaw.

“After our wedding, I started investigating the property’s ownership records.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I wanted to understand the building’s finances. You were investing everything you had in the studio, and the owner had been talking about retiring.”

“You never mentioned any of this.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was interfering.”

“You bought the building.”

He continued looking directly at me.

“Not quite.”

“What does that mean?”

“The property belonged to a holding company. Through Vale Holdings, I bought a controlling stake in that company.”

I could only stare.

“So you own the building.”

“I own a portion of it.”

“How large a portion?”

“Seventy percent.”

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