3 days before my wedding, Dad called: “I’m not wal…

He thought he could write a check and erase my existence. I grabbed my keys and marched out of the greenhouse. The Montana sun was high and unforgiving.

Just as I reached the gravel driveway, a sleek black Lincoln Navigator pulled through the front gates. It parked perfectly parallel to my front porch, the engine humming with a quiet, expensive purr. The driver’s door opened.

Maya Thorne stepped out onto the gravel. Maya was Elias’s older sister. She lived in Chicago, where she worked as a senior corporate attorney for a firm that handled multi-tier acquisitions.

She wore a tailored charcoal suit, a silk blouse, and a gaze that missed nothing. Maya fought her way up the corporate ladder by dismantling arrogant men in boardrooms before they finished their morning coffee. “Get in,” Maya said.

The command was smooth, but it left no room for debate. I stopped halfway to my car. “How did you know?”