"You made Desiree fall yesterday—her hand was covered in red marks—and you couldn't even bring back what I asked for, so our wedding night was ruined. Don't you think you owe us an apology?"

I took a long breath and looked at the man in front of me as though I were seeing him for the very first time.

I picked up the transfer agreement, tore it to pieces in front of him, and dropped the shreds into the trash. My voice was steady. "The distillery is what my parents left me. You have no right to take it."

He pulled out his phone without a flicker of concern.

The next second, stories broke—safety hazards, tainted ingredients, one accusation after another raining down on the distillery.

Conrad raised an eyebrow and tapped the desk in a lazy, uneven rhythm. "Tracey, the distillery's gone either way. You're my wife—that alone is enough to keep you fed."

"If you enjoy working here that much, I'll let you keep showing up."

I met his contemptuous gaze.

I knew he was capable of it.

If I didn't sign, the distillery wouldn't last another thirty minutes.

The man who once told me the Graves Group stood behind the distillery was now the one standing against it.

Even knowing that, it still hurt.

I held his stare, my eyes burning red against my will. "Fine. I'll sign."

Conrad reached over and stroked the top of my head. "That's more like it."

When Desiree got the signed transfer agreement, she rubbed her belly and announced, gloating, "Look, baby. This is the gift Daddy prepared for your arrival."

"You're the sole heir to the Graves Group now."

Then her gaze drifted down to my stomach. "Tracey, you should really take care of that pregnancy. You don't even know who the father is—the Graves family isn't going to foot the bill for someone else's child."

I paused, then spoke slowly, word by word. "Sole heir to the Graves Group. So what? As long as I don't agree to a divorce, the child in your belly will always be illegitimate."

"And you will always be the other woman."

4

The color drained from her face. She looked instinctively toward Conrad.

His brow was knotted tight, his voice low with warning. "Tracey. Don't push it."

I had nothing left to say to either of them. I just wanted one last look at the distillery before I walked out.

Conrad stepped in front of me, his eyes ice-cold.