Simon, who had also been caught off guard by Julie's unexpected gesture earlier, slowly let a smile creep across his face.
It wasn't immediate or exaggerated—it was the kind of smile that bloomed gently, like the soft unfolding of a rosebud touched by the warmth of morning sunlight.
A rare and tender moment on Simon's usually playful face.
"Than—" he began, wanting to say something, maybe a compliment, or simply express his gratitude.
But it wasn't anyone's words that stopped him. No one told him to be quiet.
It was their eyes.
Not one of the men said a thing. Yet somehow, the weight of their combined stares descended upon Simon like a thousand daggers.
The room didn't fall silent—he did, under the silent pressure of unblinking judgment.
If looks could kill, Simon would've been lying flat on the floor.
Realizing the dangerous terrain he was treading, he immediately zipped his lips and pressed them into thin, tight lines, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
