Alyssa’s confident demeanor crumbled in an instant, as if Martin Chen’s gaze had the power to unravel her carefully constructed facade. “Miss Harper,” he began, his tone measured and deliberate, “there’s something we need to clarify before proceeding.”
The room’s atmosphere shifted, vibrating with a tension that felt almost tangible. Alyssa’s face flushed, her eyes darting around the room as if seeking an escape. I watched, a mix of confusion and vindication churning inside me. This wasn’t how I’d imagined it would unfold.
My stepmother’s perfectly lacquered nails tapped an uneven rhythm on the mahogany table. Her eyes avoided mine, focusing instead on the abstract painting hanging on the wall. She had always kept her cards close to her chest, but now, the cracks were starting to show.
