I twist my wedding ring at the kitchen counter, the estate papers spread out before us. Piers rests his forearm against my elbow without a word, his quiet authority filling the space like it always does when he decides I need keeping in line.

I tell myself I won't yield to these old-fashioned demands, no matter how steady his voice gets or how his touch lingers on my back. Yet the memory of his palm striking bare skin lingers too, mixing fear with a craving for the security only his control seems to offer me.

The inheritance deadline tightens everything between us, but it's his need to enforce obedience that pulls hardest at the resistance I wear like armor.