part 6: 🥀a casual yet sinister interaction 🥀

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Liza's POV🌹

Liza approached Victor cautiously, keeping a respectful distance of about a meter as she stood before him. "What would you like to order?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Victor smirked at her, a glint of recognition in his eyes. "I remember you. You're Liza, the girl my parents introduced me to two weeks ago," he said.

Surprise washed over her, but she maintained her composure. "Yes," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, tinged with fear. She could feel her heart racing, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

"Do you remember me?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, his expression playful.

"Yes," she said again, trying to keep her tone casual, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her nerves.

His smile widened, and then he surprised her further. "Why don't you take a seat? Let's talk."

That was the last straw. Liza stood up straight, her instincts kicking in. "No, thank you. I'd rather do my job than sit at a table with you and your friends," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

Victor rolled his eyes, seemingly unfazed. "Oh, don't worry. I'm friends with the owner of this bar. He wouldn't mind if I interacted with one of the waitresses. In fact, he encourages it."

Liza felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, and she didn't want to push him further. Reluctantly, she nodded. "Okay," she said softly, "but I'll just sit over here."

She took a seat next to him but kept her distance, trying to remain professional. Victor's friends glanced at her with curiosity, their eyes flicking between her and Victor, smirking at the unfolding scene.

Victor leaned back, clearly pleased with himself, while Liza fought to keep her anxiety at bay. She felt exposed, sitting there with him, and every instinct told her to get up and leave. But she was trapped-caught in a web of expectations and fears, all for the sake of survival.

As the conversation continued, she focused on keeping her responses brief, hoping the interaction would be over soon. Every moment felt like a tightrope walk, and all she could do was hold on tight 🥀

Sure! Here's a revised version that focuses on the innocent aspects while maintaining the narrative:

Author's POV

Liza sat nervously, trying to ignore the raucous laughter from Victor's friends as they boasted about how they bang two girl's and manage to get a taste of them from the previous night. She didn't quite understand what they meant by "bang," but the implications made her stomach turn. She hoped the girls they mentioned were okay, wherever they were now. It was unsettling to hear such crude talk in a bar, especially with no hint of shame.

She reminded herself that this was no ordinary bar but an upscale one where such behavior was sadly normalized. Men catcalled women without a second thought, and it was clear to her that this was a common occurrence. Liza was certain that the two girls discussed were not alone in their experiences; many women likely endured similar treatment.

A few minutes later, Victor turned his attention back to her, asking innocently about her favorite color, animal, food, and hobbies. Liza was surprised by the simplicity of his questions, almost like a kindergarten teacher engaging with her students. She couldn't help but giggle a little, finding his curiosity endearing.

She thought for a moment, half-expecting something inappropriate, but Victor's questions were genuinely innocent. "My favorite color is red," she replied, smiling. "I love dogs, especially golden retrievers. Spaghetti is my favorite food, and I enjoy painting and reading in my free time."

Victor listened intently, a smile spreading across his face. He didn't realize how charming he appeared in that moment, completely absorbed in their conversation. He fumbled slightly, apologizing for not knowing how to communicate with women well, as he had mostly been homeschooled and interacted with men and household staff growing up.

Liza, unaware of the deeper complexities of his thoughts, simply smiled back at him. She appreciated his effort to engage, finding comfort in the lightheartedness of their exchange amidst the chaos of the bar.

Sure! Here's the continuation from Liza's point of view, focusing on the appropriate aspects:

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Liza's POV

Everything seemed to be going well, despite Victor's friends talking shamelessly about their antics from the night before. Their crude remarks made her uneasy, but Victor's innocent questions brought her some comfort. She found herself smiling as she shared her favorite things, enjoying the brief distraction.

However, the atmosphere shifted when Victor, after a few shots of alcohol, leaned in with a blank expression. "Are you a virgin?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious. The question hit her like a cold wave, making her stomach twist.

"That's none of your business," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's getting late, and I really need to go."

Without waiting for a response, Liza stood up and hurried away, her heart racing. She felt a mix of disgust and confusion at his question, wondering if he truly meant it or if the alcohol had clouded his judgment.

She called for some staff to help Victor, who was slumped over the table, clearly drunk and almost asleep. She felt a flicker of concern for him but knew she had to prioritize her own safety and well-being.

Once she had ensured he would be looked after, Liza quickly got ready to leave. She stepped outside and called a taxi, her mind still racing from the encounter. As the car pulled up, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. She was grateful to escape the uncomfortable situation, knowing that she had managed to stand her ground.

As she settled into the back seat of the taxi, Liza let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. She glanced out the window, feeling a mix of emotions-disgust at Victor's question but also gratitude that she had the strength to leave when she needed to. The city lights blurred by as she focused on the road ahead, ready to put the night behind her.


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