Chapter 6 - The Marriage That Was Never About Love
I spent the morning remembering my marriage.
Every anniversary.
Every argument.
Every time Derek had asked about my father’s finances.
I had thought those questions were normal.
Now they sounded like preparation.
Rebecca placed bank statements across the dining table.
“Derek has been searching for information about the Bennett Trust for at least three years.”
My chest tightened.
“We were married four years.”
Luka said nothing.
I looked at him.
“Say it.”
“He probably knew before the wedding.”
The room became painfully quiet.
I remembered Derek proposing beneath a string of lights near the river.
I remembered crying.
I remembered my father’s empty chair at our wedding.
Maybe Derek had never loved me.
Maybe I had been an investment.
“No.”
I stood.
“I need proof.”
“You’ll get it,” Rebecca said.
“I need to hear it from him.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“I’m not meeting him alone.”
Luka looked at me.
“You have an idea.”
“Yes.”
Three hours later, I called Derek.
He answered immediately.
“Elena.”
His voice became gentle.
The same voice that had once made me feel safe.
“Come home.”
“I’m scared.”
I hated saying it.
But it worked.
His tone softened further.
“That man is manipulating you.”
“Maybe.”
Luka watched me from across the room.
“Tell me the truth, Derek.”
“About what?”
“The trust.”
Silence.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
But there.
“What trust?”
He was lying.
I swallowed.
“My father’s trust.”
Another silence.
Then Derek sighed.
“Elena, we should discuss finances privately.”
There it was.
Not surprise.
Not confusion.
Finances.
I closed my eyes.
“How long have you known?”
“Known what?”
“That my father left me money.”
“You’re emotional.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I whispered.
“Did you marry me because of it?”
His voice hardened.
“Be careful what you say.”
That was Derek.
Not loving.
Not worried.
Threatened.
I ended the call.
Rebecca saved the recording.
Luka stared at me.
“I’m sorry.”
I hated those words.
Everyone said them when there was nothing useful left to say.
That evening, independent DNA results arrived.
Rebecca printed the report.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Probability of paternity:
99.9997%.
Derek was Isla’s biological father.
The prenatal report was fraudulent.
But Luka was staring at something else.
“What?”
He pointed toward the laboratory signature on the original false report.
Dr. Samuel Crane.
I knew the name.
He had been my father’s closest friend.
He had attended my wedding.
May you like
He had carried my father’s coffin.
And according to public records, Dr. Samuel Crane had died eleven years earlier.
