Not good.
“These peculiarities extended to his last will and trust, and I’m afraid some of those conditions impact you directly,” Jackie explains.
She pauses and opens the leather briefcase at her side, retrieving a neatly clipped pile of documents she pushes across the table.
My eyes flick down in horror.
Some lines of text are already highlighted in yellow. I realize I’m looking at the will. Or a copy of some section of it.
“As part of Ethan Blackthorn’s inheritance specifically, Mr. Blackthorn set a rather unusual condition for his grandson.”
The grandson mention has me reeling again.
What the hell could anything involvingEthanhave to do with me? My hands shake as I scan the paper. The highlighted lines blur.
A sixth sense tells me what’s coming, even if I can’t believe it.
This absolutely, categorically cannot be happening.
“No way,” I croak.
“Ethan Blackthorn’s inheritance—namely, his full trust and controlling stake in Blackthorn Holdings—has a curious contingency,” Jackie says, not beating around the bush, which is a good thing because I can’t decipher legalese through my spinning thoughts. “You must become his wife.”
There’s the mic drop.
And that’s when the shock catches up like a relentless wave, pulling me under, until the world I know spins into blackness.
2
ALL THE TECHNICALITIES (ETHAN)
Preposterous.
Certifiably fuckinginsane.
I pace the floor of the law office like a caged animal, my shoes practically burning a hole in the plush rug.
There are a thousand useful things I could be doing at this precise second, but instead I’m here. Cooped up in Jackie Wilkes’ immaculate office, listening to the outrageous pile of crap my grandfather put in his will.
The old man had to be senile.
There’s no other explanation.
“This is bullshit, right?” I glare at Miss Wilkes where she’s sitting behind the desk, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.
As always, her dark hair is up in a neat bun and her skin looks like a tan statue.
Normally, I’d be impressed with her professional manner as she waits for me to get a damn grip, but right now I’m fucking livid.
“That’s your opinion, Mr. Blackthorn, and you’re certainly entitled to it,” she says calmly.
Not saying I’m right or wrong.
Polite and poised as always. Probably training for her future career in politics.
“Bull. Shit,” I repeat, snarling. “I cannot believe you’re even telling me this.”
“It’s in Leonidas Blackthorn’s will. You’re perfectly welcome to read it yourself, if you have any doubt.”
