Businessmen who had once appeared on magazine covers shook my hand. Politicians offered congratulations. Relatives of Margaret’s late husband watched me with expressions I struggled to interpret.
Some smiled politely.
Others exchanged glances and whispered behind their hands.
I knew what they were thinking.
A young man had married an elderly millionaire. Surely, he was after her fortune.
I wanted to prove them right and wrong at the same time.
I wanted the money, but I also wanted them to believe I deserved it.
By the end of the evening, I had almost convinced myself that I had won.
Then the wedding ended.
A chauffeur drove us to Margaret’s mansion, a sprawling property surrounded by tall trees, manicured gardens, and stone walls. The house was so large that I could hardly imagine how many people it took to maintain it.
Inside, the floors gleamed beneath enormous chandeliers. Expensive paintings lined the hallways, and a grand staircase curved toward the upper floor.
