The room felt smaller with all of them in it.
The study that had once belonged to Ophelia's mother was large, elegant, lined with dark wood and the faint scent of old paper. But as Ophelia stood frozen in the doorway, staring at Lyse seated calmly beside the solicitor, it suddenly felt suffocating.
"Your mother asked for her to be here," the solicitor repeated evenly. "You are both the recipients of her will."
For a moment, Ophelia could only blink.
The words bounced around her head, refusing to settle into anything that made sense.
Both.
Recipients.
Her lips parted, then closed again. Her fingers curled so tightly around the doorframe that her nails dug into the polished wood.
"That's impossible," she said finally.
The solicitor gestured toward the empty chair adjacent to Lyse.
"Please sit, Ms Welhaven. This will be much easier if we proceed in an orderly manner."
Ophelia didn't move.
