Martin casually picked up a slice of Black Forest cake and followed Waldo to the lounge.
Ophelia was chatting with Regina. But despite the small talk, Regina felt more like a mistress standing before the legitimate wife—awkward, out of place, and visibly tense. Her replies were clipped and stiff, betraying the quiet storm of insecurity rising in her chest.
Ophelia had initially wanted to probe—test the waters, perhaps, regarding Regina's relationship with both Waldo and Martin. But seeing the younger woman shrink into herself like a startled rabbit, she couldn't bring herself to do it.
"What are we chatting about?"
A deep, velvety voice cut in. Waldo's voice. As he took the seat beside Ophelia and placed the tray gently in front of her, Regina's body went rigid.
And then Martin arrived—loud, loose, and utterly unbothered—as he plopped down beside her and set a tray before her as well. The closeness made her flinch, instinctively glancing toward Waldo.
