I never had lofty ambitions. I only ever wanted to be a rich widow—no in-laws to deal with, no husband to answer to, just a massive inheritance in my grasp. It wasn't the most virtuous dream, but it was undeniably practical.The year I turned 29, that opportunity finally came. My parents sat at the head of the table, with two photographs placed on the coffee table.On the left was Frank Larson, the pampered heir of Braventhorn's elite circle. On the right was only a blurred side profile—his uncle, Henry Larson.Rumor had it that Henry was 35, frail, and ruthless. He was on the brink of death, consumed by the consequences of his violence.My father, George Nufer, tapped his ashtray. "You two, you may each pick a man."My younger sister, Lily Nufer, wasted no time placing her hand on the left photo. "I choose Frank! If I'm getting married, I'd obviously pick someone young."She was utterly certain. "Frank is the heir of the Larson family. If I marry him, I'll become Braventhorn's t
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