“Robert,” he said, “tonight everything changes.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
The gala hall glittered under chandeliers. White tablecloths. Crystal glasses. Centerpieces arranged like something stolen from a Manhattan ballroom. A small orchestra played smooth classics, the kind that make people feel elegant even when they aren’t.
Passengers dressed up and posed for photos, faces flushed with wine and excitement. The air smelled of perfume, cologne, and rich food.
I moved slowly, smiling when spoken to, nodding when necessary. My eyes never stopped scanning.
And then I saw him.
The man.
Tonight, he wore a black suit and white shirt, blending in better than he had at the pool. But his eyes were the same. Sharp. Focused. Watching me as if he were measuring the distance between my body and the nearest exit.
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