Ray's hands, balled into tight fists, trembled slightly. The tension in his body spoke volumes, though he kept his face carefully controlled. Esme, lounging almost carelessly now, kept her gaze fixed on him, her smirk never quite fading. She knew exactly what he was thinking. They all did.
It was a game—one second aunt always won.
Ray's fingers drummed against the armrest of his wheelchair, the rhythmic tapping the only sound filling the tense air. He stared out of the window, deep in thought, his frustration evident in the way his jaw tightened, the subtle twitch of his fingers. Esme remained seated across from him, watching him with a gaze that was both amused and wary, as if anticipating his next move.
Finally, Ray broke the silence. "We need to find a way to bring her down." His voice was low but firm, the quiet intensity of a man who had been pushed too far. "I'm done letting her play us."
