Are you a spy?

Jaxon kept his eyes fixed on the road, feigning indifference as Isla fidgeted nervously beside him. The silence in the car was thick and awkward, broken only by the faint sound of her fingers tapping against one another.

Suddenly, the car jerked to a halt, coming to a stop in the middle of the highway, on a deserted bridge. Isla's breath hitched as the realization sank in—they’d stopped in the middle of nowhere. The unfamiliarity of the road unsettled her even more.

Panicked, she glanced into the side mirror and noticed the absence of other cars. They were completely alone, and the isolation sent a wave of fear coursing through her. 

A flood of paranoid thoughts raced through her mind as Jaxon finally turned to look at her. "Why are we stopping here? What is he going to do to me?" Her heart pounded violently against her chest. 

She remembered, suddenly, how little she actually knew about him—no social media, no digital footprint. The enigma around him had always been unsettling, but now it was downright terrifying.

"Relax," he said, his voice calm but firm. "This isn’t some horror movie. Stop shivering." His dark eyes locked onto hers.

“What?” she stammered, shaking her head. “I’m not shivering.” Her voice wavered as she turned away, trying to mask her fear.

But when Jaxon moved his hand slightly toward her, she flinched instinctively, her reaction prompting a sigh of exasperation from him.

“I’m sorry, Boss,” she said softly, though her voice carried an edge of defiance. “But what do you expect? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Her eyes cautiously met his, and for the first time, she truly took in the intensity of his gaze—dark, piercing, and strangely unreadable.

“Who are you?” he asked suddenly, his tone shifting to something sharp and probing. Isla blinked, confused.

“Who… what?” she stammered.

“Who sent you to the company?” he pressed, leaning in slightly, his voice low and accusatory. “What’s your plan?”

Her body stiffened, and she instinctively leaned back. “I don’t understand, Mr. Jaxon. What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he snapped, his expression unyielding. “Why did you lie and say I sent you to the company tonight? Did you really think they’d just let you waltz in?”

The weight of his words made her stomach churn. Unable to meet his piercing gaze, she lowered her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jaxon.”

“Are you a spy?”

Her head shot up, eyes wide with disbelief. “A spy?” she repeated, aghast. “No! Why would you even think that?”

“This is a private security company,” he said coldly. “We can’t rule out anything suspicious. Now, tell me why you lied to the guards, Isla.”

Hearing him say her name in that grave tone sent a shiver down her spine. She clenched her fingers together, trying to steady herself. “I… I needed somewhere to stay for the night,” she confessed hesitantly, her voice trembling. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go, and the company was my best option.”

Jaxon’s brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, his penetrating gaze fixed on her.

“I’m squatting at my friend’s apartment,” she continued, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Her boyfriend came over tonight, and I had to leave. I wanted to book a hotel, but if I did…” She paused, swallowing hard. “I wouldn’t have enough for a taxi to get to work tomorrow.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and she bit her lip, forcing herself to meet his gaze. To her surprise, the hard edge in his eyes seemed to soften.

“I’m sorry for lying,” she added quietly. “But I’m not a spy. I’m just your secretary, trying to do my job. I didn’t mean any harm.”

For a moment, Jaxon said nothing. He looked away, his expression unreadable, and turned the key in the ignition. The car roared back to life, but his silence only made Isla more anxious.

“Where are we going?” she asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m starving,” he replied curtly, gripping the steering wheel with one hand as he accelerated.

Her heart sank. “Are you going to fire me?” she asked, lowering her gaze. “You have every right to—”

“Is that what you want?” he interrupted, his voice cutting through her spiraling thoughts.

“No!” she blurted, her hand flying to grab his free hand before she could stop herself. “I need this job, Mr. Jaxon! I promise I won’t lie or sneak into the company again!”

His eyes flicked to her hand on his, and she froze, realizing what she’d done. “Shit,” she muttered, quickly withdrawing her hand. “I’m sorry… again.”

A faint smirk tugged at Jaxon’s lips, but he said nothing, his attention returning to the road.

After a few more minutes of tense silence, Jaxon pulled into the parking lot of an upscale restaurant, the kind Isla had only seen in movies. The neon lights of the restaurant's sign glowed warmly in the night, casting a golden hue over the sleek cars lined up outside.

He turned off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt without a word.

“Come on,” he said simply, stepping out of the car and shutting the door behind him.

Isla blinked, caught off guard. “Oh… okay,” she stammered, quickly nodding as she unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for her bag.

She stepped out of the car, clutching her bag tightly as if it were a lifeline, and quietly shut the door. Her eyes followed Jaxon’s tall, confident figure as he strode toward the restaurant entrance, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

‘Am I supposed to go in too?’ she wondered, her nerves tightening with every step. She hesitated for a moment, glancing at the imposing building in front of her.

Not wanting to risk annoying him further, she hurried after him, keeping a few paces behind. The restaurant’s glass doors swung open smoothly, and Jaxon strode in, his posture commanding and confident, hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“Mr. Jaxon,” a uniformed hostess greeted, her tone respectful as she offered a slight bow. The restaurant’s logo was neatly embroidered on the chest of her crisp uniform. “Welcome. Please follow me,” she added with a warm smile.

Jaxon gave her a small nod and trailed behind her without a word. Isla hesitated for a moment, taking in her surroundings with wide-eyed awe. 

The place was exquisite, from the crystal chandeliers casting a soft glow over the room to the subtle hum of classical music drifting through the air. A handful of patrons dined quietly, their hushed conversations adding to the serene atmosphere.

The hostess led them to a cozy, secluded table nestled in the corner of the room—clearly a spot reserved for someone who valued privacy. Jaxon took his seat with a practiced ease, rolling up his shirt sleeves in one smooth motion.

“Please, have a seat, ma’am,” the hostess said, gesturing politely to the chair opposite Jaxon and offering another slight bow.

Isla, still grappling with why she had been brought to such a luxurious place, forced a polite smile and slid into the chair. “Thank you,” she murmured, clutching her bag tightly under the table.

The hostess turned her attention to Jaxon, her demeanor professional yet familiar. “Sir, the usual for her as well?”

He gave a brief nod, his sharp gaze fixed on her. “She should like it,” he replied simply.

With that, the hostess departed, leaving Isla even more bewildered than before. Her mind whirred with questions. ‘I lied to him, and now he’s buying me dinner in a place like this? Is this some elaborate way of letting me down easy before firing me?’

“You don’t have to do this, Mr. Jaxon,” she said finally, her voice quiet but earnest. “I can manage dinner on my own and figure things out for the night. I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”

Jaxon didn’t look up from his phone as he typed something out. “And how exactly do you plan on sorting yourself out?” he asked, “Sleeping on the streets?”

“No, of course not!” she shot back, though she faltered, realizing she didn’t have a solid plan. “But… I could maybe call another friend or—”

“If you had someone else to stay with,” he interrupted, his eyes finally meeting hers, “you wouldn’t have risked your job by lying to get into the company tonight, would you?”

She dropped her gaze, shame washing over her. “No,” she admitted softly.

“Good.” He leaned back in his chair, his tone decisive. “So sit back and enjoy the food. You’re coming home with me tonight.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened in shock. “I’m… going to your house?” she stammered, barely able to process what he had just said.

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, already returning his attention to his phone.

Her thoughts spun wildly. ‘The Jaxon Waverly mansion? All 700 square meters of luxury and mystery? Is this really happening, or am I dreaming?’ Isla’s thoughts raced as she struggled to comprehend the situation.

‘Why would he want me in his mansion?’ she wondered, her heart pounding. ‘There are rumors—plenty of them—that he hardly lets anyone step foot on his properties. Even his company’s profile talk about how fiercely private he is. So why me? Why now?’