Richard stond ook op en knoopte zijn colbertjasje dicht, alsof hij aan het oefenen was. « Je hebt tot morgenochtend 9:00 uur, Sophia. We verwachten dan je handtekening of je besluit om de bruiloft af te zeggen. »
« We hopen echt dat u de verstandige keuze zult maken, » voegde Victoria eraan toe, zonder op te staan. « Ethan geeft heel veel om u. Het zou zonde zijn om hem te kwetsen vanwege een simpele formaliteit die iedereen beschermt. »
Ik knikte stijfjes en draaide me om om te vertrekken, de huwelijksovereenkomst voelde als een loden gewicht in mijn handen. Terwijl ik naar mijn auto liep, hoorde ik Victoria’s stem uit het open raam van de woonkamer komen. ‘Ze zal tekenen. Waar anders zou ze een partner zoals Ethan vinden? Zeker niet in de kringen van de community colleges waar haar ouders vaak komen.’ Richards zachte lach en reactie waren de genadeslag.
Ik stapte in mijn auto, legde de huwelijksovereenkomst op de passagiersstoel en reed nog net langs de sierlijke poorten van het Blackwood-landgoed voordat de tranen begonnen te stromen. De rit naar huis was een waas. De tranen stroomden over mijn wangen terwijl de chique buurten van Chicago plaatsmaakten voor het meer vertrouwde stadsbeeld van de binnenstad. Ik moest twee keer stoppen omdat ik door het huilen de weg niet meer goed kon zien. Mijn telefoon ging vier keer over, Ethans naam flitste op het scherm, maar ik liet het naar de voicemail gaan. Ik moest eerst verwerken wat er gebeurd was voordat ik met hem kon praten.
Bij een rood licht flitsten herinneringen door mijn hoofd, als scènes uit een film waarin ik onbewust een rol had gespeeld. Victoria die commentaar gaf op mijn praktische autokeuze toen ik er voor het eerst mee naar hun huis reed. Richard die scherpe vragen stelde over mijn bedrijfsmodel en vervolgens onderwijstechnologie afdeed als een nichemarkt zonder echt groeipotentieel. Het kerstdiner waar Ethans broer vroeg of ik mijn kleine bedrijfje na mijn huwelijk zou voortzetten, alsof het een hobby was in plaats van mijn passie en mijn levensonderhoud. Ik had al deze momenten genegeerd of goedgepraat, in de overtuiging dat het geïsoleerde incidenten of misverstanden waren. Nu zag ik ze als onderdeel van een patroon, een consistente onderschatting van mijn waarde, omdat ik hun achtergrond en vermeende rijkdom miste.
Toen ik eindelijk in mijn appartement aankwam, belde ik de enige persoon van wie ik wist dat die het zou begrijpen.
‘Wat hebben ze gedaan?!’ Jenna’s stem klonk verontwaardigd aan de telefoon. ‘Drie dagen voor de bruiloft? Dat is niet alleen smakeloos, maar ook ronduit manipulatief.’
Jenna was mijn kamergenoot op de universiteit en is altijd mijn beste vriendin gebleven. Ze wist alles van me, inclusief mijn financiële situatie, en daarom vond ze het gedrag van de Blackwoods zo gênant.
‘Het ergste is dat Ethan het blijkbaar wist,’ zei ik, terwijl ik me op de bank nestelde met de telefoon tegen mijn oor. ‘Hij had alleen niet de moed om het me zelf te vertellen.’
‘Dat weet je niet zeker,’ waarschuwde Jenna. ‘Zijn ouders zouden kunnen bluffen.’
“Either way, it does not look good for him,” I replied. “Either he knew and let them ambush me, or he has so little control in his relationship with them that they can threaten to cancel his wedding without his knowledge.”
Jenna was quiet for a moment. “What are you going to do about the prenup? Have you read through all of it yet?”
“Enough to know it is completely one-sided. They even have clauses that could affect my intellectual property rights to my company’s software.”
“Are you serious? That is outrageous.” Jenna’s outrage mirrored my own. “You know what you need to do, right? Call Harold first thing tomorrow.”
Harold Winters had been my grandfather’s attorney and continued to manage my legal affairs. He was shrewd, experienced, and most importantly, completely devoted to protecting my interests.
“I will,” I promised. “But first, I need to talk to Ethan. I need to understand where he stands in all this.”
After hanging up with Jenna, I finally gathered the courage to call Ethan back. He answered on the first ring.
“Sophia, thank God. Mom said you left upset. What happened?” His concerned tone almost made me falter, but the memory of Victoria’s smug face strengthened my resolve.
“What happened,” I said carefully, “is that your parents ambushed me with a prenuptual agreement and told me I either sign it by tomorrow morning or the wedding is off. They also implied you were fully aware of this plan.”
The silence on the other end was damning.
“Ethan,” I prompted.
“I did not know they were going to approach you like that,” he finally said, his voice strained. “I told them I would discuss it with you myself.”
“So you did know about the prenup,” I confirmed, my heart sinking.
“Sophia, try to understand. Every marriage in my family for generations has had a prenuptual agreement. It is just how things are done.”
“And you did not think this was something to mention to me before your parents cornered me 3 days before our wedding?”
He sighed heavily. “I was going to bring it up. I just kept putting it off because I knew it would upset you and wedding planning was already stressful enough.”
“So, you left it for your parents to handle—like I am some problem to be managed.”
“That is not fair,” Ethan protested. “I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” I laughed bitterly. “By letting your parents blindside me with an ultimatum? By letting them include clauses that could affect my business? That is not protection, Ethan. That is cowardice.”
“You are overreacting,” he said, his voice taking on the placating tone I had heard him use with difficult clients. “It is just a standard legal document. Everyone signs them these days.”
“Have you actually read it?” I challenged.
Another telling pause. “Not in detail,” he admitted. “Dad said it was the standard family template.”
“The standard family template that ensures I walk away with nothing in a divorce regardless of what I contribute to our marriage or how long we are together,” I summarized. “The template that could potentially give your family claim to intellectual property developed by my company.”
“That cannot be right,” Ethan said, but uncertainty had crept into his voice. “Dad would not do that.”
“Read it yourself,” I suggested. “Section 4, paragraph 3.”
I heard rustling on his end, presumably as he located a copy of the document. “I need to look this over more carefully,” he said after a moment, sounding troubled. “Some of this language is more aggressive than I expected.”
“Your parents gave me until 9:00 a.m. tomorrow to sign it or cancel the wedding,” I reminded him. “What is your position on that ultimatum?”
“They should not have done that,” he said quickly. “Of course, the wedding is not contingent on this. We can work it out.”
“Can we? Because your mother made it very clear that this is a non-negotiable condition for marrying into the Blackwood family.”
“Mom can be intense, but she does not make these decisions. We do.”
I wanted to believe him, but doubt had taken root. “Then call them right now. Tell them the ultimatum is off the table and that we will address this after the wedding.”
“Sophia, be reasonable. We cannot just dismiss this entirely. A prenup makes sense given the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?” I pressed. “The fact that your family has money, and I presumably do not?”
“It is more complicated than that,” he hedged. “There are family trusts, business interests—things far too complex for a simple teacher’s daughter to understand.”
“To understand?” I finished for him, echoing the condescension I had heard in Victoria’s voice.
“That is not what I meant, and you know it,” Ethan said, frustration evident in his tone. “Why are you making this so difficult? It is just a piece of paper that hopefully we will never need.”
“If it is just a piece of paper, why is it worth threatening to cancel our wedding over?”
He had no good answer for that.
“I need some time to think,” I said finally. “And you need to decide where you stand, Ethan. With your parents or with me.”
“That is not a fair choice,” he protested. “I love you, but they are my family.”
“And what am I supposed to be in 3 days?” I asked quietly.
The question hung between us unanswered. “I will call you tomorrow,” I said, and ended the call before he could respond.
I sat in the silence of my apartment, the phone clutched in my hand, tears threatening again. Then I noticed the prenup still sitting on my coffee table, and something shifted inside me. Sadness gave way to determination. If the Blackwoods wanted to make this about money and power, perhaps it was time they learned I had both.
I opened my laptop and pulled up my financial portfolio. My grandfather’s inheritance had grown to $7.5 million through careful investment. My company, Edutchek Solutions, had recently been valued at 1.5 million during our last funding round, bringing my total net worth to around $9 million. Not Blackwood money perhaps, but substantial enough to change the dynamics of this conversation entirely.
For three years, I had kept my financial situation private. Not out of shame, but because I wanted to be loved for myself, not my bank account. I had watched Ethan’s friends and acquaintances treat him differently because of his family name and wealth, and I had no desire for that kind of superficial attention. Besides, in the tech world, flying under the radar had strategic advantages. But now, facing the prospect of signing away my rights or losing the man I loved, I realized my silence had allowed the Blackwoods to construct a narrative about me that was entirely false. They saw me as a gold digger reaching above my station when in reality I was a successful businesswoman choosing to share my life with their son as an equal.
As this realization crystallized, a plan began to form in my mind. I would not be bullied or manipulated. I would not sign their one-sided prenup, but neither would I walk away from the man I loved without a fight.
I sent a quick text to Harold: need urgent meeting tomorrow morning at 7 a.m. Prenup situation, wedding in 3 days. We’ll explain in person. His response came quickly: will be at your office at 7 sharp bring all documents.
I slept fitfully that night, cycling through anger, hurt, determination, and doubt. By morning, however, one thing was clear. The time for hiding my success was over. The Blackwoods had forced this confrontation, and now they would have to deal with the real Sophia Williams, not the modest school teacher’s daughter they thought they could intimidate.
At 6:45 the next morning, I was already at my downtown office reviewing the prenuptual agreement line by line and making notes. I had dressed deliberately in one of my power outfits, a tailored charcoal gray suit that projected confidence and authority. My hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and I wore the pearl earrings my grandfather had given me for my college graduation, a reminder of where I came from, and the values that had guided me to success.
Harold arrived precisely at 7, immaculate as always, in his bespoke suit, silver hair perfectly combed, carrying his weathered leather briefcase that had seen decades of legal battles. At 72, he was still one of the sharpest attorneys in Chicago with a reputation for being ruthlessly effective while maintaining impeccable ethics.
“Good morning, Sophia,” he greeted me, setting his briefcase on my conference table. “I must say, when I received your text, I was quite surprised. You never mentioned a prenuptual agreement in our previous wedding discussions.”
“Because there was not one until yesterday,” I explained, handing him the document. “Three days before the wedding, my future in-laws ambushed me with this and an ultimatum to sign it by 9:00 a.m. today or cancel the wedding.”
Harold’s bushy eyebrows rose as he accepted the document. “That is rather unorthodox timing, to put it mildly. Read it,” I urged, “particularly section four on intellectual property and section six on asset division.”
He put on his reading glasses and began scanning the document, his expression growing increasingly grave as he progressed. After about 15 minutes of careful reading, he set it down and removed his glasses.
“This is one of the most aggressively one-sided prenuptual agreements I have seen in 45 years of practice,” he stated flatly. “And I have seen some doozies, especially among old money families.”
“Can you fight it?” I asked.
A slow smile spread across Harold’s face, the kind that had likely struck fear into opposing council for decades. “My dear, I will not just fight it. I will eviscerate it and replace it with something that actually protects your substantial interests.”
He opened his briefcase and extracted a legal pad. “Let us be clear about your position. Your net worth currently stands at approximately $9 million, correct?” I nodded. “And the Blackwoods are unaware of this fact.”
“Completely unaware,” I confirmed. “I have always kept my financial situation private. Only my parents, Jenna, and you know the full extent of it.”
Harold chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that conveyed genuine amusement. “Well, this is going to be quite the revelation for them.” He tapped his pen against the legal pad. “Do you want to salvage this relationship or should we simply refuse their terms and let the chips fall where they may?”
The question gave me pause. Despite everything, I did love Ethan. The issue was not with him directly, but with the power dynamics his family was trying to establish.
“I want to salvage it,” I said finally. “But only if Ethan is willing to stand with me as a true partner. And only if his family recognizes that I am entering this marriage as an equal, not as some charity case they are graciously welcoming despite my perceived lack of pedigree.”
“Very well,” Harold nodded. “Then we craft a counter offer, a fair and balanced prenuptual agreement that protects both parties equally.”
For the next two hours, Harold and I worked on creating a new document. He drafted language that protected both my assets and Ethan’s, established fair terms for property division in the event of divorce, and most importantly included ironclad protection for my intellectual property and business interests.
“Now for the presentation strategy,” Harold said as we finalize the document. “Timing and setting will be crucial. When and where do you want to deliver this counter offer?”
Ik heb hier goed over nagedacht. « Er moeten twee gesprekken plaatsvinden. Ten eerste moet ik even alleen met Ethan praten. Daarna, als dat goed gaat, moeten we dit samen met zijn ouders bespreken. »
« Ik stel een neutrale locatie voor de familiebijeenkomst voor, » adviseerde Harold. « Een plek die openbaar genoeg is om extreme reacties te ontmoedigen, maar privé genoeg voor een vertrouwelijk gesprek. »
“De privé-eetzaal van restaurant Lake View,” besloot ik. “Die is chique genoeg om de smaak van de Blackwoods te bekoren, maar toch neutraal.”
‘Uitstekende keuze,’ beaamde Harold. ‘En wat betreft de ondersteunende documentatie—’
Ik opende een map op mijn bureau. « Hier ligt mijn complete financiële dossier, inclusief bankafschriften, beleggingsrekeningen en de meest recente waardering van mijn bedrijf. Alles is bijgewerkt en geverifieerd tot vorige maand. »
Harold bekeek de documenten en knikte tevreden. « Deze zullen uw standpunt volkomen duidelijk maken. Laten we nu uw aanpak met Ethan bespreken. »
We hebben nog een uur besteed aan het verfijnen van mijn strategie voor beide gesprekken. Tegen de tijd dat Harold om 10:30 vertrok, voelde ik me voorbereid en zelfverzekerd. Ik had een solide plan, een eerlijke huwelijksovereenkomst en, het allerbelangrijkste, de vastberadenheid om voor mezelf en de relatie die ik wilde op te komen.
Nadat Harold vertrokken was, belde ik Jenna opnieuw om haar op de hoogte te brengen. « Dus je gaat dit echt doen? » vroeg ze nadat ik het plan had uitgelegd. « Je financiële situatie openbaar maken na die al die tijd geheim te hebben gehouden. »
‘Ik zie geen andere optie,’ antwoordde ik. ‘Niet als ik een huwelijk wil dat gebaseerd is op waarheid en gelijkheid.’
‘En wat als Ethan boos is dat je dit voor hem verborgen hebt gehouden?’ vroeg Jenna. ‘Heb je daar wel eens aan gedacht?’
Ik had er uitgebreid over nagedacht. « Dan moeten we daar samen aan werken, » zei ik. « Maar als hij niet kan begrijpen waarom ik geliefd wil worden om wie ik ben en niet om mijn bankrekening, dan zijn we misschien niet zo compatibel als ik dacht. »
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