Without a second thought, Jerica stood. She needed to put distance between herself and Lydia's calculated grace, to escape the suffocating air that seemed to grow thicker with every heartbeat.
Confronting Lydia wasn't an option—not now, not while she was teetering on the brink of her own composure. The weight of the conversation pressed heavily against her chest, and she refused to let this woman see her falter.
She took a step, her gaze fixed on the exit, ready to leave Lydia and her veiled provocations behind.
"I can become a patron of your foundation. Are you sure you're going to leave?" Lydia asked but that was not enough for Jerica to stop.
What did she care about the foundation? It was a relic of her mother's ambitions, a monument built on falsehoods and hypocrisy. It served a purpose, sure—helping those who truly needed it—but it had never been about Jerica. It was never about her worth or her victories. That truth had burned its way into her soul long ago.
