The round table had become a circus.  

Tonight, the laughter was louder, the drinking faster, the smiles sharper.  

Evan tried to keep control.  

Each time Mr. Huang raised his glass, Evan matched him, drinking clean.  

But when anyone else came around, he only sipped—just enough to be polite.  

He’d learned his lesson.  

He couldn’t afford to be that man again—the one dancing, slurring, vomiting.  

But Rachel caught on quickly.  

She leaned close, voice soft and teasing against his ear.  

“What’s wrong, Evan? Losing your nerve already?”  

Then, without warning, she turned to the client and called out,  

“Mr. Huang! Evan’s not keeping up tonight!”  

Laughter exploded across the table.  

Mr. Huang slammed his palm down, grinning wide.  

“Evan, my boy! Don’t be shy! Drink with me!”  

The women around them cheered, their voices syrup-sweet.  

He could feel the pressure like heat on his skin.  

He forced a smile.  

And drank.  

Round after round.  

Rachel kept feeding the fire, while Ivy watched from the side, expression unreadable.  

She poured him another glass, calm, detached, as if it had nothing to do with her.  

Sienna remained silent.  

She refilled his drink when needed, her movements smooth, her eyes elsewhere.  

That quiet between them—  

it stung worse than any alcohol.  

The room spun faster with every swallow.  

Mr. Huang’s laughter cut through the blur.  

“Evan! That dance yesterday—come on, show us again!”  

Before he could react, hands pushed him up from his chair.  

Applause, music, flashing lights—  

and suddenly he was back on display.  

He moved clumsily to the rhythm, half dragged, half carried by the noise.  

Mr. Huang joined in, laughing, shouting, slapping his back.  

The table erupted.  

It wasn’t joy—it was spectacle.  

Dice rattled.  

More drinks.  

More games.  

Evan’s vision swam.  

The edges of the room pulsed with light and sound, too bright, too close.  

Mr. Huang banged his hand on the table again.  

“Now this—this is a man! You’ve got good people, Manager. I like this kid!”  

The manager grinned, eyes shining with relief.  

Zack smiled too, but there was something tired in it.  

No one noticed Evan slipping away.  

He staggered down the hall, the music fading behind him.  

The hallway lights were too white, too clean.  

He pressed a hand against the wall, breathing hard, searching his pocket.  

A crumpled pack of cigarettes.  

He almost laughed.  

He only smoked when he couldn’t stand himself anymore.  

This was one of those nights.  

He placed a cigarette between his lips, checked his pockets again—no lighter.  

“Of course,” he muttered.  

Then a voice behind him:  

“Here.”  

He turned.  

Sienna stood there, holding out a lighter.  

Her face calm, untouched by the chaos of the night.  

The flame flared as he lit the cigarette, the brief glow flickering across both their faces.  

“How did you…” His voice cracked.  

“How did you know I was out here?”  

She met his eyes, her tone flat.  

“Mr. Huang told me to watch you,” she said.  

“He didn’t want you sneaking off.”  

The words hit harder than any drink.  

Evan froze, smoke curling between them.  

For a second, he’d almost believed she cared.  

But it wasn’t concern.  

It was an order.  

And the flame that had just lit his cigarette—  

went out cold in his chest.