At the annual meeting of the Sanders family trust, my ex-fiancé, Chad, erupted. He kicked the door open and roared, “Molly, if you dare marry my father, I’ll ruin you!” He seemed to have forgotten that this was all his idea. Just before our wedding, he’d made a bet to amuse his new lover, Lillian. He’d made me the stakes. He bet her that I would marry his bedridden, elderly father for money. He was just waiting to watch me become a laughingstock. But he never imagined I’d overheard his entire phone call with her. And he certainly never imagined I would play along. When he shoved the prenuptial agreement in front of me, his face was alight with the thrill of the spectacle he’d orchestrated. I said nothing. I just signed my name. Overnight, I went from his fiancée to his stepmother. And the family trust that had bankrolled his entire life was now under my joint control, with William. Looking at his stunned, furious face, I allowed myself a small smile. “You want your inheritance? Then learn some manners. Call me Stepmother.” ... “Molly, are you sure about this? That prenup… William Sanders has been sick for years. Everyone knows he’s not all there.” My mother’s eyes were red, her voice trembling with shock. When the Sanders family sent over the engagement gifts, she had been the happiest person in the world. She had watched me turn down a partnership at Skidmore, Owings & Merrill to marry Chad, watched me pour the seven most critical years of an architect’s career into restoring that nearly derelict Charleston estate. She’d been so proud. Through her professional connections, she helped my restoration project gain the support of historical preservation societies. “Molly,” she’d told me that day, “you’re going to be the finest mistress the Sanders family has ever had.” But now Chad, the man I thought I would spend my life with, had put this agreement in front of me for the sake of a bet. All I felt was a......
