Billionaire hits rock bottom
Not a greeting, not even acknowledgment — just that sharp, appraising stare that made me feel like a criminal in my own skin.
“I was thinking,” she said, voice casual, too casual, “that men who are unemployed for years develop certain… habits.”
I froze. My chest tightened. My hands, hidden in my pockets, clenched.
“Habits?” I asked cautiously, trying not to sound defensive.
Cynthia tilted her head slightly. “Yes. Little things. Small distractions. Ways to amuse themselves when they have too much time and too little work.” She smiled faintly, but it was not a smile. It was a knife disguised as silk.
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