Stephanie sat in the high-rise lounge of Nirvana Hotel, her legs crossed elegantly, red nails drumming impatiently against the rim of her wine glass. Across from her, Robert leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking between his phone screen and the silent television mounted on the wall. News anchors droned on about celebrity breakups and political scandals but still, not a whisper about Mila or her response to everything thrown at her.
The day was almost gone. No interviews. No statements. No public meltdown. No legal response. Not even a cryptic social media post.
"Nothing," Stephanie muttered under her breath, staring at the untouched drink in her hand. "Still nothing."
Robert didn't look up from his phone. "Maybe it's the beginning of the week. She might be laying low, regrouping. I know how these things work in our social circle, wait three days, strike with a polished rebuttal and a sad smile. Zyran must be backing her up so well."
