The replacement spouse my unfortunate husband is a tycoon

The phone buzzed against the stainless-steel prep table, a harsh, insistent vibration that cut through the warm, yeasted air of the bakery.

Evelyn Kerr's hands froze in the mound of dough she was kneading.

On the screen, a name glowed with a venomous familiarity: Frank Kowalski.

Her stomach clenched. It was a physical reaction, a cold fist tightening in her gut, one she'd known for years. She wiped her floured hands on her apron, the rough fabric a poor anchor in the sudden storm of anxiety.

"I need to take this," she murmured to Stella, her best friend and the owner of the bakery, who gave her a knowing, sympathetic look.

Evelyn retreated to the relative quiet of the dry storage pantry, the scent of sugar and spices doing nothing to calm the frantic beat of her heart. She leaned against a sack of flour, the cool wall a stark contrast to the heat flushing her skin. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Where is it?" Frank's voice was a gravelly bark, devoid of any greeting.

Evelyn closed her eyes. "Hello, Frank. It's nice to hear from you, too."

"Don't get smart with me, Evelyn. The money. For the house. It's the third of the month."

"Payday isn't for another few days," she said, her voice weary. She'd had this exact conversation a hundred times. "I'll send it as soon as I get paid."

A string of curses exploded from the other end of the line. "Jake needs new formula! You think that stuff is cheap? Your brother's kid is going to starve because you can't be bothered to remember who put a roof over your head!"

In the background, she could hear the distinct sound of a football game announcer and her brother, Kyle, yelling at the TV. Another lie. It was always another lie. A wave of nausea washed over her, so strong she had to press a hand to her mouth. The feeling of being trapped, of being an endless resource to be drained, was suffocating.

"I'll figure something out," she promised, the words tasting like ash. "I'll send it soon."

She hung up before he could reply, her finger jabbing the screen. The silence that followed was a relief, but it was heavy, filled with the weight of her impossible situation. She slid down the wall, resting her head on her knees, the cold from the concrete floor seeping into her jeans.

Just as her breathing began to even out, the phone buzzed again.

A New York number she didn't recognize. Probably a debt collector Frank had sicced on her. She almost ignored it, but some masochistic impulse made her answer.

"Hello?"

"Am I speaking with Ms. Evelyn Kerr?" The voice was female, older, with a crisp, elegant accent that felt out of place in her world of flour dust and angry phone calls.

"This is she," Evelyn said, wary.

"My name is Margaret Downs," the woman said, her tone direct and businesslike. "I understand you are in a difficult position, Ms. Kerr. I believe I can offer you a solution."

Evelyn's guard went up instantly. "I'm not interested in whatever you're selling." It had to be a scam.

"I'm not selling anything," Margaret said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I was given your name by a Mr. Petrov. A spiritual advisor. He has foreseen that you are the destined partner for my grandson."

Evelyn almost laughed. A psychic? "You've got the wrong person." She was about to hang up.

"Wait." the woman's voice sharpened with urgency. "I can solve all of your financial problems. I can give you the means to be completely free of your family."