The apron h!t me in the chest before I had even finished my morning coffee.

My husband, Daniel Mercer, stood a few feet away and didn’t say a word.

We had been married for exactly two days.

Apparently, that was enough time for his mother to decide I had married into a job.

“Maria won’t be needed anymore,” Evelyn Mercer announced from the middle of her enormous marble kitchen. “You’re part of the family now. It’s time you started contributing.”

I looked down at the white apron in my hands.

Then at Daniel.

He stared at the floor.

“Of course,” I said.

Evelyn smiled.

“Good girl.”

That almost made me laugh.

For months, Evelyn had believed I was some small-time freelance event planner who had somehow gotten lucky enough to marry into the Mercer family.

Daniel had never corrected her.

In fact, he had encouraged that version of me.

He liked being seen as the richer one.

The more important one.

The one with the impressive family name.

I had never bothered correcting either of them.

What they didn’t know was that my “freelance work” was only the public-facing part of what I actually did.