None of them talked. Not Ava, not Eva, not Zach, not Zeke, not Lord and Lady Ford, not Lord and Lady Summers, and definitely not Helen and Adelle who stood stiffly near the two waiters that stood stiffly near the massive floor-to-ceiling windows like very expensive, slightly anxious statues.
It was the kind of silence that didn't just fill a room—it smothered it like an awkward, overpriced blanket.
The long marble dining table, which probably cost more than the average citizen's annual salary, gleamed with golden plates, crystal glasses, and food so fancy no one was entirely sure how to eat it.
Was that a decorative edible flower or just… a flower? Zach poked it once and didn't touch it again. He wasn't about to die from petal poisoning.
Everyone was doing their best to look casual, but the tension was so thick it could've been sliced and served as the twelfth course.
