Simon, perceptive as ever, caught the shift. He straightened, his easy demeanor faltering slightly. "Is everything alright, Mr. Evans?" he asked, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of challenge, as though daring the cold man to address what had just unfolded.
Mr. Evans didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back, his movements slow and deliberate, his expression never wavering. "Quite," he replied, his tone smooth yet cutting, like the edge of a blade. "I trust the meal will be engaging enough without unnecessary distractions."
The words landed with the weight of an accusation, though veiled beneath a thin layer of civility. My cheeks burned as I lowered my gaze, my heart pounding against my ribs. Simon's fingers flexed briefly against his napkin, as though suppressing the ur
