The sound of the study door opening was a sharp intrusion, a crack in the carefully constructed bubble of our confrontation. I didn't turn, but I felt Charles's attention shift instantly, his body tensing as his focus moved from me to the newcomer. I knew without looking that it was Lisa.
She entered with a quiet, confident stride, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor. She was dressed in a tailored pantsuit, her dark hair pulled back in a severe knot that did nothing to soften the sharp intelligence in her eyes. She carried a slim tablet, and as she approached, she didn't so much as glance in my direction. It was a deliberate act of dismissal, a clear signal that in her world, I was still just part of the furniture.
"Sir," she said, her voice crisp and professional. She stopped a respectful distance from Charles, her posture deferential but not subservient.
