People believe what they see

The simple breakfast in front of us, with its perfectly presented pastries, freshly squeezed juice, and eggs cooked just the way I would hope for in this situation, seems almost coincidental. Everything is overshadowed by the commitment we signed, the contract. As if to tell me that I've crossed a border I can't uncross, its weight presses against my chest every second.

I inhale deeply, attempting to suppress the residual uneasiness. Even if the meal is beautifully arranged and meticulously prepared, it seems to serve only as a diversion. My attention stays on the man across the table as I pick up my fork and begin to hack into the soft, golden omelet in front of me. Alexander's eyes are observing me as though he's waiting for me to become weak.

I look at it and my breath catches. "What is this?" My voice is quieter than I meant when I ask.