Angela sat stiffly across from Michael in the lavish hotel lobby, her fingers clenched on the armrest of the velvet chair. The hum of the hotel lobby around her, polished shoes clicking against the marble floor, muted conversations, the faint clinking of glassware from the nearby bar felt like background noise to the tension radiating between them. The tension between them was thick, her stomach churning with unease. Michael's sharp suit and composed demeanor only heightened her distrust.
"Let's not waste time," Angela said, her voice cutting through the air like a blade, her voice firm but low enough to avoid drawing attention. "You said I need the truth. Start talking."