That was the moment I understood.
This wasn’t a conversation.
This was an announcement.
“Elena,” Ryan said, not getting up, not softening his voice. “We need to talk.”
I didn’t answer.
I stood there with my keys still in my hand, my heart beating too loudly in my ears, as if my body was trying to warn me.
The lawyer opened a leather folder and adjusted his glasses. He introduced himself, but his name slid right past me. All I could see was the folder—thick and official-looking—resting on his knee like a verdict.
He said he was there to read the will.
He didn’t ask me to sit down.
No one did.
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