Ricard stood in front of Emma, his sharp gaze seemingly piercing through her, searching for a reason why she was still here. He frowned, unable to hide his curiosity and slight irritation as he saw her standing under the dim streetlight, holding a cigarette that was nearly burnt out.
"Why haven't you gone home yet?" His voice was low, carrying a touch of coldness and firmness.
Emma blew out a final puff of smoke before extinguishing the cigarette beneath her foot. She lifted her head, her cold and sharp eyes meeting Ricard's, but a mischievous smile played on her lips. "I'm waiting for you," she replied, her voice laced with a hint of challenge, as if she were playing a game with rules only she knew.
Ricard's frown deepened, not understanding Emma's true intentions. "Waiting for me?" he repeated, his tone skeptical. "For what?"
