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"Meaning."

His face goes flat. Lawyer-flat. The expression he uses in depositions. "Proof of a genuine marital relationship."

Everly is the one who says it.

"You mean consummation."

Christian doesn’t answer.

Which is answer enough.

The room goes quiet for about three seconds.

Then I lean back in my chair and look at the ceiling because my dead father managed to write a trust document that requires his children to prove they’re having sex, and the fact that I’m surprised by this says more about my optimism than his character.

"Don’t worry about that part," I say.

They both look at me.

"We’d pass."

The silence after that is different.

Christian’s jaw unclenches. That’s all he gives me. Everly’s mouth twitches once—not a smile, but close.

"Good," she says.

Then she goes back to her phone.

The strategy session stretches into the evening. Media plans. Legal language. Talking points. Containment scenarios for outcomes I don’t want to think about but Christian makes me think about anyway because that’s his job. He walks through trust provisions line by line while Everly builds a PR offense out of honeymoon photos and carefully placed exclusives.

Somewhere around seven thirty, Sharon brings coffee nobody asked for and a tray of sandwiches she leaves on the credenza. Nobody touches them.

At one point Christian rubs his jaw and says, "Best case, this is procedural. They’re testing the integrity of the clause and we pass. Worst case, they think they have enough to force terms."

"What terms?" Everly asks.

He looks at me when he answers.

"Whatever they think Everett will agree to if it keeps his wife out of the fallout."

That lands exactly where he aimed it.

Because that’s the part. That’s the only part that matters now.

Not the inheritance. Not the tower. Not the damn money.

Aria.

If they find the contract. The payment structure. The arrangement that started this.

They don’t just make me look compromised. They make her look bought. And if that happens, the money tied to the deal—the money paying for Brookhaven, the money standing between her father and a facility that would break her heart—all of it goes with it.

I built that man an apartment in my house.

And now I might have to prove I deserve to keep the house around it.

It’s past nine when they finally leave.