Sylvia thinks a signed contract spares her from answering to me.
The gravel shifts under her feet as she turns away, and my hand closes on her elbow to hold her steady. Her waist fits against my palm like it was meant to test me. The papers that tie her dowry to my failing estate lie scattered between us, but it is not the debt that tightens my grip.
She will learn what happens when she lifts that chin at me once more. My hand will teach her, and neither of us will pretend it ends at the ledger.
