"You're marrying them." My father slammed the folder so hard the coffee cup jumped. "That's impossible." I pushed my chair back. "I won't—" "You don't get to say no," he said. "Your silence buys the family time." My mother folded her hands and watched me like she was checking a list. "Millicent's bills clear if you do this. Summit needs the transfer signed by noon. That's all." "No," I said again. "I am not—" My father rose. He looked at me the way men look at a contract they can tear up. "You will sign. Tonight. You will go to Mariner Heights. You will be Mrs. Cunningham on paper." "I won't," I said, and my voice didn't rise. I learned long ago to keep my voice small when bargaining with people who had wallets bigger than my life. He slapped me. The sound was loud in the living room. My cheek stung. My mother didn't move. My father sat back down like an executioner who had finished the warning. "You think this is some romantic story?" he said. "Leighton ran. She left a mess. This family needs a pause, a face that matches a name for the press. You match. You sign, you save your grandmother. You refuse, and Summit will pull the transfer and Millicent dies on an unpaid bed." My hands shook. "You can't—" "You don't get to argue," my mother said. "Not when every account is