Isabella “That’s why,” he continues, his tone lowering just slightly, something more strategic settling into his voice, “I came prepared with an offer.”The words settle between us—quiet, controlled, but heavy enough to shift the entire direction of the conversation.I don’t speak right away.I just watch him.Because men like Lucas don’t make offers unless they’re already sure of their position.And somehow—he thinks I’m negotiable.He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat with unhurried precision, pulling out a slim document and placing it neatly on the table between us. The movement is smooth, practiced, like this is something he’s done before—handled people, arranged outcomes, closed situations.“Take a look,” he says calmly, gesturing toward it with a slight nod, his gaze never leaving mine.I don’t touch it.Not immediately.Instead, I lean back just slightly, crossing my arms as I hold his gaze, my expression unreadable. “You went through all this trouble,” I say evenly,
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