Yes. I do

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.