The restaurant's music hums softly—warm, dim lights pooling around our table like melted gold. I sit perfectly still, hands folded, eyes fixed on Gen. He sits across from me, calm as ever, scrolling through his phone with that gentle, harmless aura that always makes my teeth hurt.
The food arrives, steaming and rich, settling between us.
"Let's eat," he says, smiling. "Tonight is on me."
I return the smile, soft and innocent. "So Mr. Gen is treating me to a dinner party tonight?"
His smile widens—pure, unbothered, painfully angelic. "Yes."
I pick up my fork and start eating with him. But my mind moves slowly, watching him, tracing every tiny shift of expression. I want to know what's hiding inside that quiet head of his. What he wants. Who he wants.
"This food is really good," I say lightly, keeping the mask perfectly in place.
"It's my favorite restaurant," he replies, eyes still relaxed.
My phone buzzes. I glance down.
