Dinner was over, but no one seemed inclined to leave the table. The wine glasses were nearly empty, and the silence weighed more heavily than any open discussion.

Suma sat upright, her hands clasped in her lap. She had felt Kate's gaze since the first course—too attentive to be casual, too precise to be mere curiosity. Derek, Kate's husband, chatted distractedly with their son about work and future plans, completely oblivious to what was happening beneath the surface.

Kate stood up first.

"Suma, could you help me in the kitchen?" she asked, with a smile too polite to be innocent.

Suma hesitated for a second, then nodded.

In the kitchen, away from the voices in the living room, Kate rested her hands on the marble countertop. She didn't turn around immediately. She just took a deep breath.

"You know exactly what you did," she said finally, in a low voice.

Suma swallowed hard.

"I… I don't know what you're talking about."

Kate turned slowly. Her gaze wasn't angry. It was firm. Controlled. Adult.

"You're my son's girlfriend," Kate said slowly. "And yet, you were touching my leg. And no, it wasn't an accident."

Suma's face flushed.

"I never meant to disrespect anyone. Not you, not him."

Kate tilted her head slightly.

"But you wanted to feel it, didn't you?"

Silence answered for her.

"Derek trusts me. My son trusts you," Kate continued, now closer. "And yet, here we are."

She took a step back, regaining her distance.

"So tell me, darling," she finished, with a restrained half-smile. "Who's more wrong in this story?"

Suma didn't answer. Because, at that moment, she realized that the most dangerous thing there wasn't what had happened…

but what still hadn't happened.