THE ENVELOPE felt heavier than paper had any right to be.
Lily stood alone in the dimly lit living room, the fire dying low behind her, its warmth no longer reaching her skin. The clubhouse had gone quiet in that unnatural way that came after chaos—too many men on edge, too many secrets pressing against the walls. Somewhere down the hall, boots passed. A door shut. A voice murmured.
But Lily heard none of it.
Her entire world had narrowed to the envelope in her hands.
Jeremiah’s handwriting stared back at her like a confession already made. She recognized every sharp angle, every deliberate stroke. He wrote the way he lived—controlled, precise, leaving no room for mistakes.
Her fingers trembled as she broke the seal.
She sat slowly on the couch, knees brushing the edge of the coffee
