Sylvia took a seat beside him, the cool leather of the chair squeaking slightly beneath her. She folded her arms, pulling her coat tighter around herself. "We do have a crappy life, don’t we?" she said. She tilted her head toward him with a smirk that didn’t quite mask the sadness beneath.

Her gaze softened as she studied him — her big brother, the one who’d always been the shield between her and their father’s cruelty. He looked older now, more tired than she remembered.

Winn let out a low chuckle — quiet, rumbling. He glanced sideways at her, his lips twitching. "We have each other," he said. "That’s all that matters. I’ll always be there for you, and I know you’ll always be there for me."

Sylvia nodded slowly. "Yes," she whispered. Her throat tightened, and she had to blink fast before tears betrayed her composure. Then she forced herself to straighten. "And I have to talk to you about that. Reese is taking me to scout for apartments."

Winn’s reaction was instant — a sharp turn of his head, a frown deepening across his face. "You don’t have to leave, Syl," he said. "She isn’t going to be moving in. This is just a paper marriage. I need you with me."

"Winn," Sylvia said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "I need to learn to stand on my own two feet." She looked down. "By myself." She needed to prove, to herself and to him, that she wasn’t the broken girl their father had molded her into. Away from being daddy’s little puppet.

Winn’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. He knew she was right — he just didn’t like the way it felt. "Alright," he murmured finally. "If that’s what you want. Do you need anything? Money?"

Sylvia smiled — a small, grateful curve of her lips. "I’m good," she said, shaking her head. She reached out and placed her hand over his. His skin was warm and rough, his fingers instinctively curling around hers. "Be careful, bro," she whispered. There was more behind those words.

Winn turned his head, his eyes finding hers. "I will be," he said quietly. "Don’t worry about me."

"If I don’t, who will?" Sylvia shot back, the tease slipping out with a wet laugh that still trembled at the edges. She loved to needle Winn when he got too earnest. He was all flint and grit most days; she’d take the softness where she could find it.

Winn gave a short, tired chuckle. "Go," he said. "I’m still waiting for the bride." He pushed his palms flat on his knees, the tension in his shoulders belying his words.

Sylvia nodded and slid to her feet. She hesitated for a heartbeat, then leaned down and kissed the top of his head — a familiar, grounding ritual from childhood that made both of them go soft in places they kept well hidden. "Call me if anything smells like bullshit."

He snorted. She turned and left and almost walked straight into Sharona just outside the door. The bride stood there in a simple white dress. The gown was deliberately minimalist — no train, no lace, just clean lines and a neckline that promised danger.

"What are you doing here?"

"You do realise it’s my brother you’re marrying," she said flatly. "That kind of makes your question sound...stupid." She folded her arms.

Sharona stepped closer, every inch a study in poised menace. "If you’ve said anything to your brother," she warned silkily, "I don’t give a damn what your father will say. I will snap you like a twig." Her hands were perfectly still.

"Relax. He’s still marrying you. No matter how despicable you are — he’s desperate." There was disgust in the admission.

Then Sylvia moved closer, and the threat she delivered was quieter but worse: intimate, personal.

"Just so you know, I will watch your every move. I will live and breathe you. Every step you take, I will be right there. I will be your nemesis, your worst nightmare. And if you are responsible for one hair falling off his head, I will use every resource at my disposal to make sure you pay."

Sharona’s eyes narrowed, but her smile never fully left. "Darling," she said, "I thrive on being noticed. But you should be careful. Obsession can be... messy."

"Thanks for the advice." She straightened, lifting her chin to the level of Sharona’s. "I don’t need to be taught how to hurt someone who deserves it."

Sharona smiled. "You don’t scare me, princess," she purred. "You’re the weakest opponent I’ve ever come across." Her eyes glittered, the eyes of someone who had buried people.

"We’ll see," she said simply. Then she brushed past Sharona deliberately, her shoulder bumping hard against the other woman’s. The contact was small but defiant — a spark against flint.

Sylvia exhaled, trying to release the tremor that had gathered in her hands. The late afternoon light caught the chrome of Joey’s car, parked exactly where she’d left him. He was leaning against the driver’s side, one hand in his pocket, his jacket unbuttoned, the picture of calm competence. But his eyes tracked her approach.

"So," Joey asked, straightening when she reached him, "he’s still doing it?"

"Yeah," Sylvia said, rubbing her arms as if to chase off the chill. "He’s still doing it."

Joey sighed through his nose. "I think it’s for the best," he said carefully. "And according to the contract Sharona just signed, the marriage can be dissolved as soon as he gets the inheritance. It’s a temporary thing — a business arrangement, nothing more."

"How long will this take?"

Joey ran a hand through his hair, the motion weary. "I already called the Orchard family lawyer," he replied. "He says he can schedule the will reading for Monday morning. Whatever happens after that..." He shrugged. "We go from there."

Sylvia looked at him. "Get her away from him as quickly as you can, Joey."

Joey frowned, studying her face. "Is there something you’re not telling me?" he asked, his brows lifting slightly. He’d always had a way of reading her, even when she tried to keep her guard up.