The door opened.
I didn’t move.
Lucien stood there.
Suit jacket off. Shirt sleeves rolled with an unpredictable expression.
He didn’t ask why I was there.
He just looked at me… then over my shoulder… then stepped aside.
“Come in,” he said.
Not gentle. Not cruel. Just… tired.
I walked past him. My shoulder brushed his chest and he didn’t react.
And then I saw them.
Three members of the Sinclair family sat around the table like a tribunal waiting for the accused.
Lucien’s sister, Isabella looked at me up and down slowly, and then her eyes settled on my stomach.
“Well,” she said, leaning back. “The incubator finally arrives.”
My throat tightened.
I stopped near the door. No one offered me a chair.
Lucien closed the door behind me.
The click sounded like judgment.
Lucien wal
