Lu Jianjun had known what he was walking into. He wasn't a fool, nor was he naïve enough to expect anything different. The Yin family didn't operate on sentiment; they thrived on leverage, on power wrapped in polite conversation and carefully measured smiles.
The dining hall was quiet except for the occasional clink of utensils against porcelain. Yin Yuli filled the silence with light conversation, her voice carrying a forced cheerfulness, as if trying to smooth over the tension radiating from Lu Jianjun.
He sat at the head of the table, his posture composed, his face an unreadable mask. But his presence was like a storm just waiting to break. Even without saying a word, he dominated the room, making everyone around him tread carefully.
Old Master Yin and his wife exchanged wary glances. They weren't fools—they could tell something was off. But neither dared question him. Lu Jianjun wasn't the type of man one pried into.
