My pulse slowed—not from calm, but from cold clarity. “Linda,” I said carefully, “why exactly do you believe I’m Mason’s wife?”
She frowned like I’d asked something ridiculous. “Because you got married last year. The courthouse. Mason said you did it quietly for tax purposes.”
The room felt unsteady.
I looked at Mason. He said nothing. He didn’t deny it. He just swallowed.
My voice thinned. “Mason… tell her the truth. Tell her we are not married.”
Linda’s smugness cracked into confusion. “Huh?”
I stepped closer, hands trembling. “We are not married,” I repeated clearly. “There was no courthouse wedding. There’s no marriage license. I never signed anything.”
Linda turned back to Mason, expecting correction.
He stayed silent.
And in that silence, the full truth surfaced: Linda had acted on a lie her son fed her—a lie involving my house, my money, and a future I never agreed to.
Her face drained of color.
