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chapter 4

Author: Chloe
last update Last Updated: 2024-10-09 22:03:32

--

My eyes flicker to the sound of my alarm

**6 a.m.**

I have to be fast. I push myself out of my cold new bed, feeling the weight of sleep still clinging to me with each reluctant step. The beautiful bathroom greets me, its luxury a stark contrast to my mood. I can tell it’s well-equipped, even through my sleepy haze. With a groggy sigh, I turn on the cold shower.

The water jolts me awake, revitalizing my senses as I untangle my hair. I need to hurry. According to the portfolio, I need to be at Du'Lumiere Café right about now. I glance at the clock, anxiety bubbling in my stomach.

I fling open the wardrobe, my eyes scanning the tailored clothes my boss had chosen for me. To my surprise, he has a good eye for style. I quickly pull on a pair of fitted suit trousers, slipping into my red bottoms—sharp and striking. A crisp white collar shirt completes the look. I throw my hair into a messy bun, trying to strike a balance between effortless and polished.

After applying just enough makeup to even out my dark circles—enough to catch attention but not too much to look desperate—I take a moment to examine my reflection. For a man like Tristan, I think he would appreciate a woman who knows how to be classy without trying too hard.

As I step outside, the cold morning air brushes against my cheek, snapping me fully awake. I feel the gazes of men and women alike as I stride toward the street, my confidence wavering between exhilaration and nerves.

I hold my hand up, hailing a cab.

"Well... to Du'Lumiere," I mutter to myself as the taxi pulls up, the driver’s face reflecting a mix of curiosity and indifference.

As I settle into the back seat, I glance out at the bustling city, the towering buildings blurring past, and I can’t shake the anticipation buzzing in my veins. Today is the day I finally see....... him

---

I sip my coffee, though it’s long gone cold by now. My eyes flick to the door again, just like they have for the past twenty fucking minutes. According to his portfolio, he stops by here every morning around 8 a.m. Sharp. It’s almost mechanical, like everything else about him.

**7:58 a.m.**

I glance at my phone, my fingers twitching against the screen. Two minutes. He’s probably punctual to the second, the kind of man who would never be late, who operates on a precise schedule. The kind of man who would notice if anything was out of place. I try to calm the nervous energy vibrating through me.....This has to go smoothly.

I glance around the café, taking in the faces of early risers, businesspeople grabbing their first caffeine hit before heading off to their glass towers. No one stands out. No one like **him**.

Then, just as my phone ticks to **8:00 a.m.**, the door opens.

And there he is.....

Tall, towering even, with broad shoulders filling the frame of a tailored black coat. He strides in like he owns the place—no hesitation, no second-guessing, and why would he? He’s used to being in control. I take a steadying breath, but it doesn’t help.

This is Tristan Agress.....

He walks straight to the counter, his presence commanding the space as if it bends around him. I watch as he orders black coffee, no sugar, just like the portfolio said. Every detail I’ve studied about him over the past few days is suddenly real, alive in front of me, and it throws me off balance.

I can’t let it show. I can’t.

I stand, pretending to casually head toward the counter, even though my heart is hammering in my chest. I need to act fast. I get closer to him, closer than I should. And then it happens.

I stumble.

My shoulder brushes against him, sending a small shockwave through me as the papers I’ve been clutching slip from my hand. They scatter to the floor, my stomach dropping with them.

'Dammit"....

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” I blurt out, crouching to gather them before he can notice anything on the pages.

I look up, my breath catching in my throat as he bends on one knee to help....... Tristan.

Of all the ways I imagined this going down, bumping into him like this wasn't one of them. I swallow hard, trying to collect myself...... He doesn’t recognize me , why would he? I’m just another person in the sea of Manhattan professionals.

"No, that was my fault," Tristan says, flashing me a polite, apologetic smile. "I wasn’t looking where I was going."

.....his..... voice ...oh.....shit....

I force a smile.

"I should really be more careful." My heart pounds in my chest as I gather the last of the papers, praying he doesn’t get a closer look. I stuff them back into the folder, and his eyes flick to the logos printed on them. My stomach tightens.

"Important meeting?" he asks casually, standing up.

Understatement of the year.

"Y......you could say that," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just trying to make sure everything's perfect." I chuckle nervously,

he reaches forward with a cup of coffee, his fingers slightly brushing against mine...

For a split second, I freeze.

He pulls back with a warm smile. "please, take it. After everything I put you through just now, the least I can do is let you have the coffee."

I laugh, probably a little too quickly. "Thanks... I probably need it more than you know."

God, if only he knew.

Tristan chuckles, and there’s something easy, natural about it that I wasn’t expecting. "Well, if your meeting goes anything like mine, you’ll need more than just one cup." His smile lingers as he extends his hand. "I’m Tristan, by the way."

Like I didn’t already know. I nod, shaking his hand, my palms slick with nerves. "Hail... Kayla....kaylaa.....smith".

"Nice to meet you, Kayla." He holds my gaze a little too long before finally releasing my hand. "Good luck with your meeting."

My heart’s still pounding in my ears as he walks away. "Thanks... you too," I murmur, barely loud enough for him to hear.

I stand there for a moment, watching him exit the shop, trying to catch my breath. I hadn’t planned on meeting him this soon—or like this. But now that I’ve gotten a glimpse of him up close, the stakes feel even higher.

He’s not just a target anymore. He’s...... real.

And that makes everything more..... dangerous.....

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