Mishell scanned the tables, then pointed.
"That's the one, baby."
Her voice was light, sugary — but her eyes already held contempt.
The boy beside her turned, gaze landing on Miles with open disdain.
"So you're the one who wants to date my girl, huh?"
Miles didn't move. Didn't blink.
Silence settled like frost.
Behind them, the waiter froze with Miles' cold coffee in hand — unsure, nervous.
Miles lifted two fingers — a calm, almost lazy gesture — serve it.
The glass was placed down gently.
A bow.
The waiter retreated.
Mishell scoffed loudly. "You even dared to order something? Do you think I'm paying for your drink?"
The boy smirked, sliding an arm around her waist.
"You poor commoner… trying to make her pay your bill?"
