My hands will not stop shaking. The folder sits in front of me like a threat wrapped in paper, heavy and silent, waiting. Damian watches with that stillness he uses to unsettle people. It works. The air in the room feels tight enough to choke on. But even through the fear, something inside me refuses to crumble.
I push the folder back toward him.
It glides across the polished table with a soft sound that seems to echo in the room. It is the bravest thing I have done in months, maybe years. My voice trembles, but it stays steady enough to hold the words.
“No. I am not signing this.”
Damian does not blink. He looks down at the folder, then back at me. His expression is unreadable, resting somewhere between curiosity and cold calculation. He leans back slowly in his chair, studying me the
