Meryl's POV
The knock at my door sent a chill down my spine. I recognized that authoritative rhythm immediately—my father had arrived. My pulse quickened, not from anticipation but from dread. He had mentioned wanting to discuss my future, which was precisely why I felt unprepared for whatever conversation awaited me.
Elsa hurried to answer before I could rise from the sofa. There he stood in the doorway—imposing and stern.
My father.
He cut an intimidating figure in his perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his jaw set in a hard line, his penetrating gaze more intense than I remembered. He remained silent, studying me with calculating eyes. Behind him, Mother offered a tentative smile, though worry clouded her features.
"Meryl," he said, stepping across the threshold with purpose. "We have important matters to discuss."
