SANDRA’S POV
Clayton house is exactly what I expected. Everything is placed exactly where it should be, the lighting soft but controlled, the air quiet in a way that doesn’t feel peaceful, just measured.
Like nothing here is allowed to go wrong. The long dining table stretches between us. I sit down slowly. Austin on my right. Kelvin on my left.
Trapped. I feel it immediately, before anyone even speaks, before the first glass is touched. This isn’t just dinner, this is pressure.
My dad starts talking first, flipping through his documents, already focused, already in that space where everything is numbers and outcomes. “This expansion gives us stability,” he says, his tone steady, confident. “With the right backing, we’d scale faster than projected.”
Kelvin listens, calm, composed, his
