Lisa, Marcus's wife, suddenly suggested a group outing for a milkshake, oblivious to the tension. Her voice cut through the air like a jarring note in a symphony. Emmanuel managed a polite nod, but his eyes flickered your way, silently asking if you were alright with this.
Marcus, his gaze never leaving Emmanuel, gave a tight, almost bitter, smile. "Sounds...lovely," he said through clenched teeth, clearly not pleased with the suggestion.
The milkshake outing felt like a strange and strained tableau. Lisa continued her stream of questions, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents, as Emmanuel responded with short nods or noncommittal smiles, keeping his gaze discreetly on Marcus.
Marcus, though, didn't break his stare. Every fiber of his being radiated an unvoiced but palpable hostility towards Emmanuel. He sipped his milkshake slowly, eyes never leaving the man across from him. The very air seemed to crackle with suppressed tension.
As you slipped into Emmanuel's car, the tension from the milkshake stand still buzzing in your veins, Lisa leaned in close to Marcus—laughing too brightly, touching his arm just a little too long. A clear distraction.
Emmanuel started the engine with a smirk. "Smooth getaway," he said under his breath as we pulled away.
In the rearview mirror, Marcus stood frozen on the sidewalk—watching you leave with something unreadable in his eyes.
Gone was the cold control.
For once… he looked unglued.