"Sir... are you alright? You’re bleeding, sir..." the Bodyguard’s voice barked from the doorway as he rushed in.
Evelyn watched him approach with a calm, amused expression. The Bodyguard, all muscle and menace, was the sort of man who wore anger like cologne. He helped the bald man to his feet, steadying him with care.
"Wow," Evelyn said, amusingly, "You can walk already? I thought you’d need hours to regain your dignity." Her tone was light, but filled with sarcasm.
The bald man swayed, blood seeping down his temple, but his pride seemed more injured than his head.
The Bodyguard’s eyes snapped to her, narrow and furious. "You!" he snarled. "You will regret this. How dare you hit him?"
"Regret?" Evelyn echoed, tilting her head. "Mister Muscle... I don’t have ’regret’ in my vocabulary." She let the sentence hang, smiling sharp as a blade.
He sucked in a breath, as if looking for the right threat. "Do you know who this man is? You dare to attack him? You’ll end up in jail, bitch."
Evelyn answered as casually, utterly unaffected by his threat, "Of course I know him. He’s the bald old man who thought it would be fun to rape a woman in front of his entourage and brag about it."
Her words hit the Bodyguard like a thrown stone. His jaw clenched, disbelief flickering across his face.
"No... No... that’s not what you thought..." The Bodyguard began, stumbling over his lies. "It’s only..." He searched for softer words and found none. "It’s only a misunderstanding. A couple of... consensual attempts. You can’t say such things!"
Evelyn’s laugh was cold and short.
"A couple of consensual attempts? Seriously? Her hands were tied, and her mouth was taped. That’s your definition of romance?" She shook her head, disgusted. The idea made her blood boil.
She could feel her patience thinning into a string. If the man kept speaking, she would put another bottle against that smug mouth and shut him up for good.
The thought made her fingers twitch; it felt almost playful, like choosing the right utensil for dessert.
Before she could act, the bald man, clutching his head slightly, asked, "Who are you? Why did you come in here?" His voice was thin with pain and more than a bit of fear.
Evelyn stepped forward, the room contracting around her. Her smile sharpened into something dangerous and amused.
"Who am I?" she repeated. "I’m your nightmare, grandpa. How dare you try to rape someone in my favorite restaurant?"
The Bodyguard’s hands curled into fists. He took a step closer to Evelyn, "You leave now," he growled. "Or I’ll make sure you regret it."
Evelyn didn’t flinch.
Instead, she tapped her earpiece with the calm efficiency of a woman running a board meeting instead of a rescue mission.
"Did you record everything?" she asked crisply. A faint voice crackled back in confirmation. "Good. Now dig up everything on this bald, filthy man; work, family, every shady deal he’s ever touched. I want it all in three minutes."
The bald man sputtered, his bodyguard glaring but frozen in place. Shocked.
Evelyn, unbothered, strolled to the heap of trousers on the floor and picked them up with two fingers, like they were toxic.
She fished out a wallet and started flipping through it with the kind of disdain reserved for bad menu options.
"You! What the hell are you doing? Robbing him?" the Bodyguard barked.
Evelyn didn’t even glance at him.
Instead, she lobbed the pants straight at the bald man’s face. "Put them on. I can’t bear to see your pale chicken legs for another second. Honestly, have some decency."
The man scrambled, red-faced, tugging his trousers on as quickly as his shaking hands allowed.
Evelyn shook her head in mock disgust, then held up his ID card between two fingers, showing it to the pin camera on her chest.
"Ah, here we go. This is his ID." She turned it toward her invisible audience, as though they could see it through the earpiece. Then, with a casual flick, she tossed the wallet back at the pair.
"Relax," she said dryly. "I don’t need your pocket change. Unlike you, I actually earn mine."
The disbelief on both their faces almost made her laugh. Almost. Instead, she gestured to the dining chairs. "Sit. If you’re going to be humiliated, at least be comfortable about it."
They hesitated, but one sharp look from her made them comply.
The bald man groaned as he lowered himself into the chair, blood still trickling from the cut on his head, while the Bodyguard hovered like a dog that didn’t know whether to bite or whine.
With deliberate calm, Evelyn walked to the door, turned the lock, and let the heavy click echo through the room.
"Now," she said softly, "we’re nice and private. No interruptions."
Her eyes shifted to Stella. The sight hit her in the gut, her sister trembling, still bound, tears streaking down her cheeks.
Evelyn’s hands were gentle as she undid the knots and peeled the duct tape from her mouth.
"Sis—"
"Shhh." Evelyn pressed a finger lightly to Stella’s lips. "Not now. Hold it in. I need to deal with these clowns first."
Stella nodded, clutching the coat Evelyn had draped over her earlier, trying to disappear inside it.
"Does anything hurt?" Evelyn asked.
Stellah shook her head.
Evelyn gave her hand a firm squeeze, then stood again, turning to face the two men.
They were both seated now, trying to look defiant but mostly looking ridiculous. The bald man’s pants were crooked, and the blood on his forehead dribbled in a slow, pitiful line.
She tilted her head, studying them like specimens. "You know what fascinates me?" she said conversationally. "Men like you think you’re untouchable. That money, muscle, and fear are all you need. But the truth? You’re sloppy. Loud. Predictable."
The Bodyguard scowled, opening his mouth to retort. Still, Evelyn’s hand shot up, silencing him before he could make another excuse.
"Don’t. I easily get ill when exposed to stupidity, and your voice alone makes me sick and want to vomit. So, stop talking. If you say another word, the bottle will end up in your mouth!"
The man’s jaw clicked shut.