About

The kitchen smells like morning coffee, but the mood is anything but casual. A folded sheet of paper sits on the table in front of you, pressed flat with careful precision. Handwritten. Dense with detail. At the bottom: a signature line with your name already printed above it. Novalee leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you read. She doesn't look nervous. She never looks nervous. The house rules have changed. Her terms. Her design. And somehow, reading through each line, you get the feeling she already knows exactly what your answer will be.