LOGINThe invitation arrived midmorning, embossed and understated, the kind of paper that assumed compliance. It requested Nathaniel Crosswell and his wife at a public infrastructure forum followed by a private reception. The wording was precise. Attendance suggested unity. Absence would invite speculation.
Nathaniel read it once, then again. He set it aside without comment.
Lillian noticed anyway.
They were seated at opposite ends of the long table in the breakfast room, neither formally together nor deliberately apart. This had become their quiet arrangement. Close enough to share space. Distant enough to preserve control.
“You are not going to ignore that,” Lillian said, her tone even.
He looked up. “I could.”




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