They fell silent as their gazes landed on Cyra and Zane.

They had never encountered such superior beings, both in appearance and in the aura they exuded.

They felt they had blasphemed by rudely barging in without an invitation.

But that sense of awe and admiration gradually faded from their eyes, replaced by a complex mix of jealousy and superiority rooted in their aristocratic upbringing.

“Madam, how much for the room? I’m willing to pay triple for you to vacate it,” Marissa demanded, her tone rude, convinced that no matter how attractive they were, they were nothing compared to those with real power.

"I apologize, but this room isn’t for sale. Please leave the way you came in and close the door behind you." Zane responded in a polite but distant tone.

He hoped they would take the hint and leave before things escalated beyond control. He knew Cyra was seething with barely contained rage at having her planned date interrupted.

“What’s your household name? Perhaps we can share a meal and become acquaintances—or even friends,” an ash-brown-haired woman interrupted with a smile, ignoring Marissa’s frown.

Her attention was fixed on Zane. He was like an exotic flower—his white pupils cold and calm, like a still lake untouched by wind.

She itched to paint him in her colors, imagining those eyes dissolving into misty haze as he reacted beneath her. The thought alone sent a thrill down her spine, deepening her gaze.

Cyra hadn’t intervened earlier because Zane wanted to handle it his own way, but that didn’t mean she would allow a lower life form to look at her husband with such a disgusting gaze.

She vanished from her seat before anyone could notice, then appeared behind the woman who had just spoken and slapped her directly on the face.

"Thawk!"

The force of the slap hurled the woman out of the room, and she slammed into the wall beside the opposite room.

Her actions stunned everyone in the room, their faces etched with shock as the woman’s figure slid miserably to the ground, one arm hanging loosely to the side.

“Arghh! My hand...” The woman’s pained cry jolted everyone awake.

“How dare you!”

“You attacked someone without any reason! The audacity of a commoner!”

“Guards! Have this woman kneel and apologize!”

Their angry outbursts filled the room as they pointed at Cyra. They seemed united against a single enemy, feeling it was an insult for someone of “no status” to attack one of their own.

Their shouting was wearing on Cyra; her patience was thinning, and she was close to snapping.

Zane pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He had tried to handle things peacefully, but it seemed these people were determined to rush toward their own deaths.

“If you don’t take your friend and leave this room immediately, you’ll have only yourselves to blame for what happens next,” Zane warned coldly. His words silenced the room for a moment as everyone turned to look at him.

“What Aristocrat family do you come from?” one of the cautious ones in the group asked, feeling their auras weren’t something a normal person could possess.

He wanted to know whom he was offending.

The others remained silent, ears pricked for his response. Though they might have seemed righteous in defending their friend, they wouldn’t offend someone they shouldn’t over it.

Zane frowned, feeling their words always circled back to their family background—he was growing irritated.

Cyra sneered and returned to her seat, her gaze sweeping over them as though she were inspecting food for freshness and quality.

Zane’s lips parted to respond when a rush of footsteps headed toward the door.

“Please, madams and sirs, I must ask you to leave this room. You are interrupting our customers’ dining,” a tall woman in a suit said politely, accompanied by three women in guard uniforms and a waitress following behind them.

“We are not leaving until this is resolved, and I still want this room,” Marissa replied sharply, unwilling to back down. Leaving now would make her lose face. The people she had brought with her would surely spread the word, and she would become a laughingstock.

“She hurt my friend. I demand that she apologize and leave this room to make amends for her actions.”

Cyra watched calmly, her chin resting on her hand. She wondered whether she should add them to her menu; Zane might feel lonely eating alone while she watched.

Her focused stare at their arteries sent a sudden chill down their spines, but they shrugged it off, believing the woman wouldn’t dare harm a hair on their heads, or else their families would come after her.

The manager was in a dilemma over whom to offend: the aristocratic family or the wealthy customers who clearly were not ordinary.

Her gaze darted between them, and for some reason, her instincts warned her not to offend the seemingly calm red-haired woman.

Years of dealing with people had sharpened her ability to recognize authority; it radiated from such individuals. They did not need to seek attention—attention followed them, like an inherent identity.

“Madams, sirs, I must ask you to leave. As for your friend, I will call a doctor to ensure he receives proper treatment. Please, this way...” She gestured with a slight bow, her hand extended toward the door. Her voice was firm, clearly signaling that she meant business and would involve the guards if they refused to comply.

Her words lit a fuse, and the proud ladies were offended by the manager’s choice.

“Don’t you know who I am? I can’t shut down this restaurant with a snap of my fingers.”

“I dine in more distinguished places than this, and they treat me with great respect. I’ve decided to stay in this room, and you won’t do anything about it.”

“I’ll call my mother to shut this restaurant down! How dare you chase me out of the room for a nobody?” Marissa said angrily, tapping her hologram screen to call her mother, while others sent for the guards stationed outside.

Zane ignored the commotion, already unfazed by the drama. He scooted closer to Cyra and scrolled through the holographic menu to choose dinner.

“Do you think these black oyster noodles would be delicious?” he asked, almost drooling at the image on the screen.

Cyra wasn’t sure how they tasted, but advised him to order them if he was interested.

“Order a small portion to taste. If you like it, you can order more. There’s a dessert section, and I saw a chocolate mousse cake—you haven’t tried that,” Cyra said, tapping the dessert option while glancing at Zane, who looked genuinely tempted.

They talked as if there were no one else in the room, an invisible bubble surrounding them amid the raging crowd.

Marissa’s darkened, and she was about to rush toward both of them when her hologram screen connected.

Her mother’s annoyed face appeared on the screen. “What is it this time? I have sent enough money on your card for you to hang out with your friends. Why do you have to interrupt my meeting now?” the woman grumbled, clearly irritated at being disturbed.

“Sorry, Mom. A blind person decided to bully me. They tried to throw me out of our private room for no reason, and even the manager is taking their side.”

The others remained silent as Marissa complained, whitewashing herself and shifting the blame onto Cyra and the rest.

“That’s enough! Put them on the call. I don’t have time for all this,” the woman snapped, cutting her daughter off mid-ramble.

Marissa’s eyes glinted with victory and schadenfreude, already imagining them begging on their knees for forgiveness.