I looked at the man my sister was about to marry. He was wealthy, highly educated, and completely morally bankrupt. Why, I demanded stepping forward. Why would you risk federal prosecution to hand half a million dollars to a failing businessman? What possible return on investment do you get from funding a fake engagement party? Terrence let out a dark, booming laugh. Control, Caroline.
Absolute unquestionable control. He set his glass down on the desk with a sharp clink and stepped into my personal space. The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the heavy smell of bourbon. ‘Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to marry a woman from a genuinely wealthy family?’ Terrence asked, his voice dropping to a harsh, calculating register.
‘They come with aggressive prenuptual agreements. They come with demanding fathers and teams of corporate lawyers who scrutinize every single asset. They expect to be treated as equals. I do not want an equal. I want a beautiful, compliant wife who does exactly what she is told. The terrifying reality of his psychological manipulation became crystal clear.
