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The morning after I became Preston Hale’s wife, he slapped me across his mother’s breakfast table—and the four people watching looked less shocked than I was. The crack of his palm against my cheek stopped the silverware for one breath, but what followed was worse: his mother lifted her coffee, his father stared at his plate, and his sister watched with the cool satisfaction of someone who believed a lesson had finally been taught. In that instant, I understood that the wedding had not brought me into a family. It had delivered me into a system.
Chapter 2 “Enough, Maya,” he said. His chair scraped backward across the hardwood as he stood, and every person at the table became strangely still....
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