Emma’s Point of View
This restaurant was a scene straight out of a billionaire's daydream, marble floors, sparkling chandeliers, and waitstaff that glided as if on air. I sat stiffly across from Evelyn, Adrian’s mother, who had her legs crossed elegantly, a picture of poise and hostility. Her piercing gaze locked onto me, her lips curling into a practiced smile that somehow felt like a threat. My palms were slick with sweat, hidden under the table where I fidgeted with the fabric of my skirt.
This wasn’t a lunch, it felt more like an ambush.
As a waiter set a plate of overpriced food in front of us, Evelyn picked up her cutleries before gesturing delicately with her manicured hand. “Eat,” she said before beginning to eat hers, her voice dripping with sweetness, but her eyes betrayed the
