Chapter 171

• RICHARD’S POV
• I was sitting in my father’s ornate sitting room, leaning back on the plush sofa, waiting for him to finally show up. This room always felt suffocating to me—filled with dark wood and heavy curtains, a perfect representation of my father’s tastes. Cold and uninviting, just like him. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been here without feeling a knot in my stomach.
• I sat there, uncomfortably tapping my foot against the polished hardwood floor. The clock on the wall seemed to be ticking slower than usual. My father was taking his sweet time, as always. The room, filled with old family portraits and heavy furniture, felt like a museum of someone else’s life—a life I was always kept on the outside of.