"Sign this." "Do you understand what this does?" Dorian held the document like a verdict. "I do." Evie put the pen down, then picked it up again. Her hand didn't shake. Loretta's smile was thin. "We owe you nothing, Evie. You owe the family obedience." "You've said that for years," Evie said. She wrote her name in neat letters, eyes on the paper, not the room. A cousin snorted. "Make it quick. We have other things to celebrate." "Other things?" Dorian's voice was smooth. "Your release, Evie. Your freedom is a kindness." Evie folded the paper once, then twice. She slid it back across the table. "I won't beg," she said. Silence snapped at that. Snickers rose, quiet and sharp. Loretta's hand hovered where Evie's pen had been. "You signed. We can move on." "You always said duty," Evie said. "I learned a different word in school. It's called choice." "School?" Another cousin laughed loud enough to sound like bravado. Evie looked at him. "Scholarship. Two jobs. I paid my way. So spare me your pity." "Is this about pride?" Loretta asked. Her tone suggested she had already decided how to enjoy the answer. "It's about not letting you make my life your charity ledger," Evie said. "Keep your ledger." Dorian put his hands together. "Evie, signing this ends the public dispute. No lawsuits. No scandal. You keep your dignity." "You don't get to tell me what dignity is," she