She tilted her head, clearly enjoying my reaction.
"Surprised? Do you even know me at all?"
I stared at her, deadpan. At her age, she owned an entire restaurant.
At my age, I owned… nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even a working pen half the time.
Congratulations, Ryan. You lose.
"We're here," Yara interrupted my inner self-loathing as she opened a door.
The door itself looked normal, but the second it swung open, I felt like I had stepped into a different world.
The private room was pristine. The walls were polished wood, warm golden light spilling from elegant fixtures overhead.
A thick, patterned rug covered the floor, and at the center stood a table set for two, crystal glasses, folded napkins, and silverware so shiny I could see my reflection.
I froze again. Not because of the luxury, but because a terrible realization struck me.
If she owned the restaurant… wouldn't it be ten times easier for her to kill me here?
