Lyra pointed at the deed.
“You transferred a building into my name without permission.
You told me to remain single.
You stood in my shop and spoke as if my future were something you could purchase.”
Paulie shifted near the door.
Noah did not look away.
“You are right,” he said.
Lyra had prepared herself for anger, mockery, or another quiet threat.
The agreement disarmed her more effectively than any of them.
Noah continued.
“I had the right to stop the sale.
I did not have the right to speak to you as I did.”
“No, you did not.”
“Keep it that way was not mine to say.”
“No.”
“And neither was what I said about paying for what I want.”
Lyra folded her arms.
“That sounded rehearsed.”
“It was not.”
“Then you should apologize more often.
You might improve.”
Paulie looked down, but not before Lyra saw the beginning of a smile.
Noah ignored him.
“The deed has no conditions.
There is no mortgage to me, no hidden ownership clause, and no agreement requiring you to see me again.”
“I will have my own lawyer check every page.”
“You should.”
“If there is one sentence giving you control over this property, I will transfer it back.”
“There is not.”
“And you will pay for the suit.”
“I already did.”
“At the price on my invoice.
Not ten times more because you enjoy making people indebted to you.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed his face.
“At the price on your invoice.”
Lyra opened the folder again.
The building might have been safe, but the red bank envelopes still lay beneath it.
The shop’s business loan was separate from the property.
Her father had borrowed against the sewing machines and equipment during his final illness.
Lyra had kept up with the payments until winter repairs, rising fabric costs, and two canceled wedding orders pushed her behind.
She lifted the latest notice.
“This does not disappear because you bought the building.”
“No.”
“The bank can still take the machines.”
“Yes.”
“And you did not pay it?”
“I could have.”
“But?”
“You told me I pay for tailoring, not your life.”
The answer unsettled her.
Noah reached into his jacket and placed a folded order sheet on the table.
“I need eight suits,” he said.
“Four charcoal, two black, one navy, and one dark brown.
Two fittings each.
Delivery over four months.”
Lyra glanced at the quantities.
