THE ROOM was designed to feel neutral.
Soft lighting. No sharp corners. Soundproofed walls meant to swallow raised voices before they could turn feral. The compound called it a mediation suite. Lily knew better. It was a pressure chamber. A place where men told themselves they were civilized because the furniture was expensive and the doors locked quietly.
Jeremiah stood outside.
That was the condition.
Robert had insisted on it with the kind of calm that always meant violence waiting behind glass. Lily had agreed without hesitation. Not because she trusted Robert, but because she trusted herself.
She was not alone anymore—not really—but this confrontation belonged to her.
Robert was already inside when she entered, seated at the small round table as if he’d been waiting for a dinner
