(Michelle Lui's POV)
Steven's eyes held mine like a hook.
Soft.
Quiet.
But firm enough that I forgot how to breathe.
He stood there—
white shirt slightly wrinkled from the night,
silver mask tucked into his pocket,
dark eyes steady, unreadable, too calm to be natural.
Andy was right beside me.
Arms crossed.
Posture relaxed.
Jaw tight.
A tiger pretending to be a housecat.
"Michelle," Steven said again, voice low. "Just a moment."
Andy didn't move.
I felt it—the air pulling tight like a violin string.
I swallowed. "Steven… maybe later—"
"It can't wait," he said softly.
My chest squeezed.
Steven Sy never said things like "it can't wait."
Not unless something was genuinely cracking inside him.
Andy finally unfolded his arms.
He didn't step away, but he shifted just slightly—putting himself half in front of me, like instinct.
"Michelle doesn't owe you a private talk," Andy said, voice calm but edged. "Not tonight."
