After all—
someone had to remind this rooster of his place.
Emma leaned lazily against the dessert table, one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. She picked up a fork and stabbed into a slice of cake with deliberate slowness, the silver prongs sinking cleanly into the cream.
"Kid," she drawled, her gaze flicking toward Alfred with open disdain,
"if you can't handle it, you should leave while you still can."
Alfred stiffened instantly.
Emma tilted her head, her tone deceptively light, almost playful.
"This isn't a playground," she continued.
"Adults play here."
Alfred turned sharply, irritation flaring across his face.
"Who are you calling a kid?" he snapped.
"I'm already twenty!"
Emma raised an eyebrow exaggeratedly.
"Oh?" she said.
"Already twenty?"
She paused, then added casually,
"I genuinely thought you were still underage."
A few people nearby failed to suppress their reactions. Someone snorted. Another coughed suspiciously loudly.
