I look at the woman across the table — small, careful. No family. No money. No prospects. The math writes itself.
An orphan with nothing to lose and everything to gain off a Clark.
I lean back. Fold my arms. The chair gives a long, complaining creak. Loudest thing in the room.
“Let me be direct,” I say. “Women like you have tried this before.”
Her face shifts.
Not heat. Not a flinch. Just — gone. Drained of everything. Blank, like I’ve said the sky is green and she’s trying to decide if I’m insane or not worth the breath.
“I—what?”
“An orphan with nothing to lose,” I go on, voice flat, like I’m reading minutes into a recorder, “you knew who I was at the hotel. You targeted me. You engineered this.”
Silence.
The air-conditioning drones. Velvet walls press in.
She tries to speak. "
