XANDER
What was supposed to be a regular, laid-back lunch with Bassy quickly turned into one of those annoying, frustrating days that just gets under your skin. Everything was fine—until I looked across the restaurant and saw Amara.
She wasn’t alone. Sitting with her at the far end of the room were Raymond and some stiff-looking guy in a suit who looked like he had a stick permanently lodged in his spine. They weren’t laughing, smiling, or even eating. From the serious expressions on their faces, it was clear they were deep in conversation—intense and possibly heated. The way Amara sat rigidly, her arms stiff and her brows tightly drawn together, told me she wasn’t enjoying herself. Not even a little.
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want painkillers?” Bassy asked, breaking my concen
