The morning before my sister wedding, our driver suddenly quietly said, “Lie down on the back seat and cover yourself with a blanket. You need to hear this.” I refused, but he insisted, “Trust me.” Half an hour later, I heard takeo…

He nodded once. “I overheard them in the lobby last night. I didn’t mean to listen. But I heard your name. Something didn’t sit right.”

My heart started pounding. “What are you talking about?”

“If you stay sitting up, they won’t say what they plan to say,” Marcus explained calmly. “If you lie down, they’ll think you’re not here. And you’ll hear why they’ve been pushing you to sign that paperwork all week.”

The paperwork.

For three days my mother had insisted I sign a “small transfer document” for “family efficiency.” Every time I asked for details, she dismissed me. Stop being dramatic. It’s a wedding gift.

Marcus reached back and handed me a folded blanket. “You deserve to know.”

Fear beat pride.

I lay down, heart slamming, and pulled the blanket over myself. The leather felt cold against my cheek. I focused on breathing quietly.

Twenty minutes later, the front doors opened.

My father’s cologne filled the air first.

Then Daniel’s voice.

“Once we get her signature, the takeover is finalized,” he said smoothly.

I stopped breathing.

“She’ll sign,” my father, Thomas, replied with a low chuckle. “Karen will pressure her. She won’t read it closely.”