Part 2: My sister-in-law smashed a fork into my hand for touching a crab leg, unaware that I owned the $1.2 million condo her brother was living in for free.

Vance didn't come home until midnight.

I was awake, reading a financial restructuring brief on my tablet while sipping herbal tea at the kitchen counter. When the front door clicked open, I didn't look up immediately.

He dropped his keys on the entryway tray with a loud, metallic clatter. His shoulders were slumped, his tie was loosened around his neck like a noose, and his face was etched with a mixture of exhaustion and deep, simmering rage.

"My family called me," he said, his voice raw. "They told me what happened."

"Good," I said, turning a virtual page on my tablet. "It saved me the trouble of summarizing."

Vance walked into the kitchen, gripping the edge of the marble island with both hands. He leaned over it, staring at me as if I were a stranger he had picked up in a hotel lobby.

"What is wrong with you?" he whispered, his voice shaking. "Why do you have to be so combative?"

"Combative," I repeated, finally looking up. "Your mother and your uncle drove into the city uninvited, barged into my private home, dropped a fraudulent post-nuptial agreement on my counter, and tried to bully me into handing over my corporate earnings. And I am combative?"

"They were trying to help us establish peace!"

"They were trying to establish a dictatorship, Vance. And you invited them to do it."

He scrubbed his face with his hands, letting out a long, ragged sigh. "My mom has health issues, Sloane. Harlan is under a lot of stress at the country club board. Tatum... Tatum is just protective of me!"

"Tatum is a twenty-seven-year-old toddler who needs a time-out and a helmet."

"Stop talking about my sister like that!" he shouted, slamming his fist against the counter.

The tea in my mug rippled.

I didn't flinch. I just stared at his hand against the marble, then looked up into his bloodshot eyes.

"You slammed your fist," I noted quietly. "Are we moving up the Oak Brook escalation ladder? Is physical intimidation the next family tradition you want to introduce me to?"

Vance froze. His hand slowly uncurled from the marble. He looked genuinely horrified that he had raised his voice—not because he had threatened me, but because he was afraid I would use it against him.

"I didn't mean to..." he muttered, stepping back. "Sloane, please. Just sign the paper. Call Diana and tell her you made a mistake. Apologize to my mom. If we do that, everyone will forgive you. We can go back to normal."

"What normal?" I asked. "The normal where I pretend your family owns me? The normal where I get assaulted with a seafood fork and you tell me not to make a scene?"

"It was a tap!" he yelled again, losing control. "It wasn't an assault! You're making a mountain out of a molehill! Everyone in my family thinks you're toxic, narcissistic, and impossible to live with!"

"Everyone in your family?" I raised an eyebrow. "You mean Harlan, Loretta, Marilyn, Jolene, and Tatum?"

"Yes! They all agree! You're destroying our marriage before it even has a chance to breathe!"

I stood up from my barstool. I was wearing a simple silk robe over my pajamas, but I stood as straight as if I were wearing a tailored power suit in front of a board of directors.

"Vance," I said softly.

He stopped pacing, looking at me with a desperate, pathetic glimmer of hope in his eyes, thinking I was finally going to cave.

"Here is my final offer," I said.

He swallowed hard. "What?"

"You have twenty-four hours to call your mother, your sister, and the rest of your enablers, and tell them three things."

"What things?"

"First, that you and I manage our own finances independently without their interference."

His jaw tightened. "My mom will never—"

"Second," I continued, ignoring his interruption, "that Tatum is barred from entering my condo ever again until she offers a sincere, written apology for physical assault."

"Sloane, that's impossible—"

"And third," I said, my voice cutting through the air like a razor, "that if any member of your family ever disrespects me in my presence or behind my back again, you will defend your wife instead of cowering like a frightened child."

Vance stared at me as if I were speaking ancient Greek.

"And if I don't?" he whispered.

I walked over to the guest room door, opened it wide, and pointed inside.

"Then you can pack your remaining clothes, put your pillow back on that bed, and call Diana to pick up the paperwork for an uncontested annulment."

He looked at the guest room. Then he looked back at me, his face twisting with disgust and disbelief.