"Mr. Crawford, I am Minerva Feng. I came to be your grandson's wife."
My voice did not shake. The study was vast but not echoing. It felt new to me, all polished wood and glass that reflected other people's faces back at them.
Victor Crawford did not look at me at first. He looked at the pile of papers on his desk, at the seal on the top sheet, at the empty space where a signature belonged. Charles Chen stood to my left, palms folded, eyes steady. The house clock ticked loud enough to be rude.
"You're here," Victor said. His voice was a gravel road. "You signed nothing."
"I signed," I said. I pushed my ID and the marriage certificate across the desk. "This is my proof. I will sign again if you require it."
Charles made a small, polite cough. "Miss Feng, the house—"
"Do you want me out?" I cut him off. "I am here to stop a feud that killed my uncle and made my grandfather swear silence. I am here because my grandfather said this was the only way to protect what he saved for decades. If you refuse to register this, I will not leave."
There was a stir. Outside the study doors someone said my name like a question, like an accusation. The footsteps of servants slowed. The kind of silence that waits for an order fell over the room.
Victor looked up at me then. For the first time
