The woman stood there glaring at me like she expected me to flinch.
Like I was supposed to shrink under her stare. Apologize for existing. Back up and make space for her anger. Act guilty for something I never chose.
She had two friends positioned just behind her shoulders, flanking her like backup dancers waiting for a cue. Skin-tight dresses clung to every curve, fabric stretched thin and unforgiving. Their stiletto heels looked more decorative than practical, the kind you wore to be seen in, not to move in. Makeup was layered on thick enough to qualify as armor. Lipstick sharp. Eyeliner aggressive. Every inch of them screamed effort.
They looked like they’d stepped straight out of a magazine spread titled Wannabe Alpha Barbie.
I blinked once, slow and deliberate, then turned my head
