Suzie arrived at Edwards Estate Group ten minutes early.
She stood across the street for a moment, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, steadying her breathing the way she'd learned to do when panic crept too close. The building looked the same as it always had—towering glass, reflective, indifferent—but this time, it didn't feel like an obstacle.
It felt like a door she had already walked through.
Inside, the air was cool and hushed. The marble floors gleamed, footsteps echoing softly as she crossed the lobby. She noticed how people glanced at her now—briefly, curiously—before looking away. Yesterday, she had been invisible. Today, she wasn't sure what she was.
The assistant was waiting.
"Miss Hale," she said, polite but measured. "This way."
Suzie followed her down the familiar corridor, her heart beating steadily instead of wildly this time. Fear was still there, coiled deep in her chest—but beneath it was something else. Relief. The dangerous kind that made you careless if you let it.
They stopped at a smaller conference room instead of Ray's office.
"Please sit," the assistant said.
Suzie lowered herself into the chair, folding her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. The assistant placed a slim folder on the table between them and slid it forward.
"This is the confirmation you requested."
Suzie hesitated before opening it. Her fingers brushed the edge of the folder, and she had to remind herself that this was real. That this wasn't something she'd imagined in the quiet of her room, half-awake and desperate.
She opened it.
The words blurred at first, legal language dense and precise, but then her eyes caught on the address.
Their address.
Her breath caught.
"This means…" Her voice faltered. She cleared her throat. "This means it's done?"
"Yes," the assistant replied. "The eviction notice has been withdrawn. The property has been placed under a protected trust. No future action can be taken against your family under the previous claim."
Suzie stared at the page, reading the sentence again. And again.
Protected trust.
No future action.
Her chest tightened, sharp and sudden, and she pressed her lips together to keep the emotion from spilling over. She hadn't realized how much she'd been bracing herself for disappointment—how deeply she'd believed something would go wrong at the last second.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the paper.
It's real.
She had saved them.
The door opened quietly.
Suzie looked up.
Ray Edwards entered without announcing himself, his presence filling the room effortlessly. He was dressed in a dark suit, perfectly tailored, his expression calm and unreadable. He glanced at the folder in her hands, then at her face.
"You've seen the confirmation," he said.
"Yes," Suzie replied, her voice steadier than she felt. "Thank you."
Ray nodded once, as if acknowledging a completed transaction. "Good."
He took the seat across from her, folding his hands on the table. There was no warmth in the gesture, no invitation—just control.
Ray shifted his gaze briefly to the assistant and gave a small nod.
She rose smoothly from her seat. "Excuse me," she said, and left the room, the door closing softly behind her.
Only then did Ray look back at Suzie.
"You understand," he said, "that this resolves only one aspect of our agreement."
Suzie's relief cooled instantly.
"Yes," she said. "I understand."
Ray studied her for a moment, his gaze sharp but not unkind. Assessing. Measuring.
"Things will move quickly from here," he continued. "Preparation matters."
Before Suzie could ask what that meant, the door opened again—and the assistant returned, carrying two large garment bags.
Suzie's breath caught.
They were unmistakably expensive. The kind of fabric that didn't crease. The kind of bags you saw in magazines, not in real life.
Ray didn't look at them. He looked at her.
"These are for you," he said.
Suzie stared. "For… me?"
"For your first meeting with my father," Ray replied. "You'll need appropriate attire."
Something tight and uncomfortable twisted in her chest.
"You already chose them?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Ray's expression didn't change. "Yes."
The assistant placed the garment bags carefully against the wall, then stepped back, waiting.
Suzie swallowed. "You didn't think to ask me?"
Ray leaned back slightly in his chair. "No."
The word landed clean and final.
"This isn't about personal preference," he continued calmly. "It's about presentation. First impressions matter to him. Especially now."
Suzie looked at the garment bags again. Anxiety crept in beneath her skin—not awe, not excitement, but the sudden awareness that her image was no longer her own.
She had known this, logically.
Knowing it and feeling it were different things.
She swallowed, words caught somewhere between fear and disbelief.
"Tomorrow evening, you'll join me for dinner at my father's house," Ray said.
Her pulse skipped. She forced her voice out. "That soon?"
"Yes."
The assistant stepped forward. "You'll have time to prepare. I'll coordinate fittings if adjustments are needed."
Suzie nodded automatically, though her thoughts were racing. She felt like she'd stepped onto a moving platform that refused to slow down for her footing.
Ray stood.
"This is not a social visit," he said. "It's an evaluation."
Suzie met his gaze. "Of me."
"Yes."
The honesty was almost disarming.
"He'll want to know why I chose you," Ray continued. "He'll look for weakness. Hesitation. Anything that calls this match into question."
"And if he finds it?" she asked.
Ray's eyes held hers. "Then there will be consequences."
The assistant's voice was calm. "I'll send you a schedule and guidelines."
Suzie nodded, her fingers tightening slightly around the folder.
When Ray turned toward the door, she spoke before she could think better of it.
"Why me?"
He paused.
Not long. Just long enough to make the quiet press against her chest.
"Because," he said at last, without turning around, "you didn't ask for more than you needed."
Suzie swallowed, the weight of the words settling in like a stone she hadn't noticed she'd been carrying.
Then he left.
She sat there for a moment after the door closed, the quiet pressing in around her. Her gaze drifted back to the garment bags, then to the folder in her lap.
Home, saved.
Freedom, mortgaged.
The assistant broke the silence. "I'll help you carry those."
Suzie stood, slipping the folder carefully into her bag. Her hands brushed the paper again, grounding her.
Even with the assistant sharing the load, the weight of responsibility pressed against her as they walked, a tangible reminder of the reality she'd agreed to.
The street outside felt louder, harsher, like reality snapping back into focus.
Six months, she reminded herself. She adjusted her grip, squared her shoulders, and kept walking.
She had survived worse than this.
And she would survive this too—because she had to.