I picked one of the male escort—the cleanest-looking, bright-eyed one.
After a few rounds of drinks, the man who had seemed hesitant at first now put on an overly eager, almost flattering demeanor, which left me feeling a little exhausted.
I used the excuse of getting some fresh air, carrying my glass onto the balcony overlooking the entire hall.
Even from a distance, I spotted Lyndon and Claire tucked away in a corner.
Claire, dressed as a waitress, was nestled perfectly in his arms—like she belonged there.
"Claire, what do I have to do to make you quit this job?" Lyndon's voice drifted up faintly. "I've told you before—the water here is too deep. It's too easy for a woman to get hurt."
Her eyes shimmered with tears. "Yes, my job isn't as stable as sitting comfortably in an office," she whispered, "but it supports my life... and my dreams. And I still owe Ms. Miranda money. I can't leave."
"I'll pay it," Lyndon said firmly. "You don't have to worry about—"
Claire suddenly turned her back to him, shoulders shaking delicately as she cried.
"I don't want your money. You know that. I agreed to be your friend... never for money..."
I was still processing this nauseating performance when a voice spoke quietly beside me.
"Miss, don't be fooled by that woman."
I turned. It was the male escort from earlier. His smile was perfectly measured, but I wasn't in the mood to appreciate it.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"That woman... she's skilled. I've seen that man show up three times this month. Every time, she plays the part of the poor and noble one, while slyly making him feel pity and care for her."
"I've seen this a lot. It's the long-game tactic—casting a line for the big catch."
He suddenly looked a little embarrassed. "Miss, I'm not like her. I really like you..."
I took a small sip. "And what about him?"
The escort brightened as if he'd been waiting for that question. "Just putting on a show. Look at his outfit, he's clearly rich. And that ring finger... I've never seen him wear a wedding ring even once."
"He's playing the hero-saving-the-damsel game. Rich men are like that—they eat from one bowl while keeping an eye on another..."
I smirked lightly and tapped his glass with mine.
"Go on. Open a few more bottles—it's on you."
I heard his delighted thanks behind me as I took another sip, but my eyes met Lyndon's across the room.
In the silent exchange, his face darkened gradually.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Can't you tell? Relaxing," I replied lightly.
"Come home with me," he snapped.
I propped my elbows on the glass counter, gesturing behind him. "Your girl ran away."
Claire's small figure disappeared at the end of the corridor. Lyndon hesitated for a moment, then walked toward me.
"I'll send you back."
"No need," I said coolly. "I'm not short of people willing to drive me. Besides... that house doesn't matter to me anymore."
His voice dropped, cold and warning.
"That man you were just with—don't tell me you don't see what kind of person he is."
"What kind of person?" I raised a brow. "If I remember correctly... weren't you that kind of person once?"
