“You think you can just waltz out and pretend we’re not here?” Tara’s voice dripped with venom. Her eyes searched mine, looking for something—regret, guilt, perhaps even fear. But all she found was resolve.

“This isn’t about money,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “It’s about control. And I refuse to be a part of this toxic dynamic any longer.”

Luke gently took my hand, guiding me toward the door. My father, who had been a silent observer throughout the confrontation, nodded subtly, his eyes soft with understanding and regret. “Take care, Madison,” he murmured as we passed.