Amara's POV.

The moment the man entered the room, the air grew thick with a cold, menacing power. He was an older version of Senator Marchand —his movements deliberate, his eyes a cold, calculating abyss. I knew who he was without a single word being spoken.

He was Isobel’s father, a man whose presence felt like a physical weight, crushing the air out of the room. My body, which was already aching from the fall, tensed. I pushed myself up, a slow, painful process, refusing to appear weak ...