(Third POV)
The "food court" of Verité Mall was — in true ultra-elite fashion — not what normal civilians would picture when they heard the term.
There were no plastic trays.
No fluorescent lights.
No shouting for queue numbers.
Instead, marble floors gleamed softly beneath chandeliers, the air smelled faintly of truffle oil and espresso, and every stall looked like it had its own Michelin star potential but simply chose to be "casual" for the aesthetic.
Michelle blinked as she stepped in, arms full of shopping bags, and mentally decided that if she ever achieved full salted-fish-billionaire status, this would be where she emotionally retired.
Kate took the lead like the natural commander she was.
Jasmine followed, ever graceful.
Lara walked slightly behind them — not isolated, but still quieter than her usual Larazilla self.
And Michelle?
She just… walked.
Not thinking. Not calculating. Not spiralling.
Just existing.
Progress. We love progress.
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