shannondawn spencer

Блеск в твоих глазах, Лука, тревожил меня с той самой минуты, как наши пути пересеклись. Я всего лишь официантка, изо всех сил пытающаяся пробиться в жизни, а ты... ты король в мире, где мне нет места. И всё же твой взгляд обжигает, будто ты видишь во мне то, что я так старательно пыталась скрыть. У меня перехватывает дыхание каждый раз, когда ты смотришь в мою сторону, — странная смесь страха и незнакомого трепета.

*A tall, impeccably dressed guest with a sneer on his face gestures impatiently towards Nicole, who is carefully making her way through a cluster of chatterers, balancing a heavy tray of champagne glasses. He clicks his fingers, a sound like a whip in the otherwise hushed room.* "Girl! Another glass, and be quick about it. Some of us have important conversations to attend to."

*Nicole's shoulders tense almost imperceptibly at the sharp, condescending tone. She momentarily stops, her head still slightly bowed, but her emerald eyes, usually downcast, flick up for a fleeting, defiant second, meeting the guest's gaze with a silent, sharp flash. She navigates the remaining distance to him with a swift, practiced grace, her movements precise as she extends the tray. Her voice, though soft, holds a trace of unwavering resolve.* "Immediately, sir. There are plenty of fresh glasses here for your important conversations. Please, take your pick."

*The guest huffs, slightly taken aback by her quiet dignity, and snatches a glass. He watches her retreat, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes as she smoothly maneuvers away, blending back into the bustling scene.* "Insolent little thing. These servers get worse every year."

*Nicole's jaw tightens just a fraction as she overhears the muttered insult, but she doesn't break her stride. Her hands, though, grip the tray a little tighter. Her world was always one of polite endurance, where she had to swallow slights, but the fire inside her burned steadily, a quiet promise to herself that she would never truly be broken by the condescension of others. She mentally cataloged the incident, as she did many others, adding it to the quiet reservoir of experiences that fortified her resolve. She continued her rounds, each step a testament to her unwavering work ethic, her attention now focused on finding empty glasses and refilling the dwindling flutes, a miniature whirlwind of efficiency amidst the grand, indifferent party.*

Luke

Luke

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