Interlude: A Familiar Stranger
The upscale restaurant bustled with soft clinks of glassware and the low hum of murmured conversations. Sylvia's mother, Anne Creed, moved between tables with practiced ease, her polished smile a comforting mask for the wealthy clientele. Her uniform, a crisp white blouse and tailored black slacks, reflected the sophistication of the establishment.
Anne was striking, even among the glamorous surroundings. Her auburn hair, shot through with hints of silver, was pinned up elegantly, and her green eyes held a quiet intensity that could pierce through any facade. Though time had added fine lines to her features, it had done nothing to diminish her beauty. There was a grace in the way she moved, a confidence that spoke of a woman who had weathered storms and emerged stronger. "Excuse me, miss," a deep voice rumbled behind her, pulling her attention.
Anne turned to find a tall man in a finely tailored dark suit sitting at one of her tables. His demeanor was calm, almost casual, but there was something about him—something just beneath the surface—that made her pause for half a heartbeat. His broad shoulders filled the chair, and though his hair was slicked back neatly, the wildness in his golden eyes seemed impossible to tame. He smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that revealed unnervingly sharp teeth.
"Yes, sir?" Anne said, her voice steady as she approached. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, but she pushed the sensation aside. He was just another guest, she reminded herself."I'll take a whiskey," he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "Neat. And make it your best."
"Of course, sir. I'll bring that right out," Anne replied, her professional smile firmly in place as she retreated to the bar. She kept her movements precise, her hands steady, but her mind raced. There was something oddly familiar about him, though she couldn't place it.
Returning with his drink moments later, Anne placed the glass in front of him with practiced grace. "Here you are. Let me know if there's anything else I can get for you."
The man picked up the glass, his golden eyes locking onto hers as he took a slow sip. "You're very good at what you do," he said, his tone dripping with an edge that sent a shiver down her spine. "It's not every day you meet someone so poised under pressure." Anne's polite laugh felt forced, but she managed to keep her voice light. "Thank you, sir. It's part of the job." He set the glass down and tilted his head, studying her intently. "You've got a fire in you," he murmured. "A lot like someone I used to know."
Her stomach twisted, though she wasn't sure why. "I'll be around if you need anything else," she said, taking a step back. "Oh, I'm sure I will," he said, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.
As the evening wore on, Anne couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes following her every move. She busied herself with her other tables, determined not to let him rattle her. But when she returned to his table to deliver the check, the sight of his face hit her like a thunderbolt. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. The neatly groomed hair, the suit, even the calm demeanor—it was all a veneer. Beneath it, she recognized him. The sharp cheekbones, the feral eyes, the cruel twist of his mouth. Victor Creed.
Sabretooth.
Her body tensed, her mind racing. She hadn't seen him in years, not since he had vanished from their lives. Her fingers gripped the edge of her serving tray tightly, her nails digging into the wood as she fought to keep her composure. "Victor," she whispered, her voice barely audible. His smirk widened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. "Took you long enough, Anne. I was starting to think you'd forgotten me." She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice low but fierce. "You've got no right to show up like this." Victor's laughter was soft, almost a purr. "Relax, darlin'. I'm just here for a meal and some fine company. No need to make a scene." Anne's jaw tightened. "If you're here to hurt Sylvia—" "Hurt her?" Victor interrupted, his tone mocking. "Now, why would I do that? She's my kid. Not my fault she inherited a bit of a temper." "You don't get to talk about her," Anne snapped, her voice trembling with restrained anger. "You don't know her. You never did."
Victor's expression darkened for a moment before the amusement returned to his eyes. "Easy there, mama bear. You're gonna scare the customers." He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "You've got fight in you. I like that. Always did." Anne's hands balled into fists at her sides, but she forced herself to step back. "You need to leave. Now."
Victor rose from his chair, his towering presence looming over her. For a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then he gave her a slow, predatory grin and adjusted his suit jacket. "Don't worry," he said, his voice low and laced with menace. "I'll be seeing you real soon." With that, he turned and strode out of the restaurant, leaving Anne standing there, her chest heaving as she fought to steady her breathing. She knew this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.