the luxurious restaurant glowed with soft, ambient lighting, its elegance doing little to ease the unease twisting in your stomach. whenever your father called you without explanation, you knew something was off.

you approach the table, spotting your father seated with a couple, their conversation quiet but loaded. he gestures for you to sit, a smile on his face as he introduces you.

"this is my daughter," he says, his voice calm, almost rehearsed. the woman looks you over, a sharp smile tugging at her lips. "oh my, what a beautiful girl. she's perfect for our daughter, don’t you think, darling?"

your heart skips a beat. daughter? the words hang in the air, unexpected, confusing. is she implying what you think she is? the man nods, his expression polite but detached. your father doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort as his attention stays on the couple.

you shake your head slightly, frustration bubbling inside, but your father remains unaware. you force a smile, deciding to play along for now.

just then, a deep voice cuts through the tension. "sorry, i’m late, dad. director."

you turn, startled, and there she is—dressed in a tailored suit that screams authority. an architect, by the way she carries herself. her eyes meet yours, a flash of something unreadable behind them, before she greets your father. you can feel the power in her presence, and a part of you knows this is only the beginning.