"Relax. They're just fans," Ashley said, sensing Myra's sudden tension. But the words were hollow to Myra. They reminded her of the man who had spied on her, who had made her feel like her every move was being watched, dissected, and judged.
Myra's hand found its way to her face, shielding herself from the sight. The warmth of the room felt suffocating, and she longed to disappear into the silence that only darkness could offer. She couldn't relax—not when she felt exposed, vulnerable, as if the walls themselves were watching her.
Mrs. Claire frowned as the commotion outside grew. With a sharp sigh, she picked up her phone and made a quick call. Moments later, hotel security arrived, efficiently dispersing the fans from the restaurant's glass windows. Myra still kept her head low, staring blankly at her soda. Ashley, on the other hand, crossed her arms and pouted. She turned to Josh, ready to complain, but froze mid-sentence.
