At 35, I married my wealthy 72-year-old boss so my daughter and I wouldn’t end up homeless. After he died, his lawyer looked at me and said, “He prepared this trap specifically for you… and he knew you would fall into it.”

I didn’t cry.

I’d already cried enough.

I just stood there.

Then I heard a floorboard creak behind me.

I turned.

Nobody was there.

I opened the pantry door.

The hallway was empty.

I told myself it was nothing.

But somewhere in the house, someone had heard that conversation.

Someone who would remember it.

Someone who had already begun making plans.

A few weeks later, the estate looked different.

Fresh flowers.

Candles.

Soft music.

I walked into the kitchen and frowned.

“Is there a party?”

“No.”

I turned.

Richard stood in the doorway.

He was wearing a dark suit.

He looked nervous.

I’d never seen Richard nervous before.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look all right.”

He smiled.

“Come with me.”

He led me to the study.

My heart started beating faster.

He closed the door.

Then he looked at me.

“Nora, I need to ask you something.”