She scoffed. “You’re practically married. Same thing.”
“No,” I said slowly, something clicking into place. “It’s not the same thing. And I’m definitely not paying for renovations I didn’t authorize.”
Her eyes narrowed before she lifted her chin like she held the final card. “You will pay,” she declared. “Because as Mason’s wife, you benefit from what we built.”
I stared at her. “As his wife?”
She paused. “Yes. As his wife.”
I whipped around to Mason so fast my neck protested. “Mason… what is she talking about?”
His expression stiffened for half a second before he forced a shrug. “It’s just how Mom talks.”
But Linda wasn’t watching me anymore—she was watching him, waiting for reinforcement.
My pulse slowed—not from calm, but from cold clarity. “Linda,” I said carefully, “why exactly do you believe I’m Mason’s wife?”
She frowned like I’d asked something ridiculous. “Because you got married last year. The courthouse. Mason said you did it quietly for tax purposes.”
