"Stop making a fuss," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low, persuasive rumble. "It's just a chair. Is this really necessary? Look, tonight, I'll cook your favorite seafood noodles. Just for us. Okay?"
Here it was again.
Every time we disagreed, he deployed the same tactic. *Don't make a fuss. You're being unreasonable. I'll make it up to you later.*
The old me would have melted, desperate for his approval.
But the woman standing here today was cold. Clear-headed.
"Fine." I forced the word out.
Jonathan exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. "Good. I knew you'd be sensible."
I didn't say another word. Snatched the seating chart back and turned on my heel.
Just as the door began to close, Anna's soft, concerned voice drifted through the gap. "Jonathan... is Joanna angry with me?"
"She's just like that. She'll get over it."
I leaned against the corridor wall, the cold plaster seeping through my blouse, and inhaled a shaky breath.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
A message from my father.
*The five-year agreement is almost up. What is the result?*
My heart constricted painfully against my ribs.
The cursor blinked on my screen, mocking my hesitation. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, paralyzed.