My Father Married Me to a Billionaire in a Coma—Then He Opened His Eyes the Moment He Heard My Voice

“They worked together.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Her gaze became cool again.

“You have known my grandson for less than a day.”

“And I am already being warned not to trust anyone.”

“By whom?”

I did not answer.

Vivian rose.

“Mara Ellis left the foundation after Ethan’s accident.”

“Why?”

“She said the work had become too demanding.”

“

Did you believe her?”

Vivian walked toward the window.

“Belief has little to do with legal resignation papers.”

I studied her reflection in the glass.

“Was she with Ethan the night of the crash?”

Vivian turned.

“What makes you ask that?”

“The reports said he was alone, but there are gaps in the timeline. His car left a dinner in the city at ten. The accident wasn’t reported until after midnight. The drive should take less than an hour.”

For the first time, Vivian looked impressed.

Then her expression closed again.

“You should not begin your marriage by investigating your husband.”

“I didn’t exactly begin it by dating him.”

A faint smile crossed her face and disappeared.

“Mara and Ethan had disagreements about the foundation’s research budget. There were rumors they were personally involved, but Ethan never discussed such things with me.”

“Did she visit after the accident?”

“Once.”

“What

happened?”

“Nothing.”

It was the same answer my father had given.

Nothing happened.

The phrase people used when something had happened but they had agreed not to speak of it.

Vivian walked to the door.

“Get some sleep.”

“Did you choose me?”

She stopped.

“For the marriage.”

“I approved the arrangement.”

“Why?”

“Your family met the necessary conditions.”

“What conditions?”

Vivian’s hand rested on the doorknob.

“You were unmarried. You had no criminal history. You were not connected to the press or any competing business interests.”

“That describes thousands of people.”

“Yes.”

“So why me?”

Her eyes held mine.

“Because Ethan had seen you before.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“What?”

“Three years ago, the Thornton Foundation funded a community health center in Queens. You volunteered there.”

I remembered the center.

My mother had received treatment there during the first months of her illness. I helped at the reception desk

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