Nayana
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Each step toward Father’s office feels heavier than the last, like the air itself is trying to drag me back. My palms are clammy, and no matter how tightly I clutch my bag, I can’t stop the shaking.
I can hear voices coming from inside.
Low, sharp and tense.
When I finally reach the door, I hesitate. A part of me wants to turn around and run anywhere, as long as it’s away from here, but before I can decide, one of the guards behind me opens the door.
“Go in, Miss,” he says flatly.
The familiar smell of cigars and whiskey hits me the moment I step inside. Father’s office is dimly lit, curtains half-drawn, the golden light from the chandelier spilling unevenly across the room.
A man I’ve never seen before stands near Fath
