Anya’s POV
Plates were set down carefully in front of us, the smell of warm food filling the air. The lights reflected off the silverware, and glasses were topped up again. The men eased into small talk, talking about past deals, travels, and other business dinners they had attended in different cities. They laughed easily, like this was all familiar ground to them.
I ate quietly.
I took small bites, chewed slowly, and listened. I didn’t feel the need to speak, and no one directly asked me anything. I was fine with that. I focused on my plate, on the rhythm of lifting my fork, on staying invisible. It felt safer that way.
Then one of the older men turned his attention to me.
He leaned back slightly in his chair and looked at me with mild curiosity.
“Are you married?” he asked, his to
