Arnold Connor never liked surprises.
Yet when he opened the email on his private tablet and looked at the surveillance photos of Freya, something unfamiliar twisted in his chest.
A heat that had nothing to do with anger, and everything to do with not knowing.
Not knowing what she was laughing at, nor the guy walking beside her.
Until Henry finally labeled him in another report:
Alex Paul, coworker. Possibly close.
He stared at another photo of them — Freya leaning into Alex's shoulder to show him something on her screen. Her hand brushed his arm. And the casual intimacy made Arnold's jaw lock.
He zoomed in on Alex's face and stared.
Too comfortable.
Too fucking close.
Henry's voice buzzed in his ear again.
"Update: She left the office with Alex around 1:45.
Destination: Thai bistro down the block."
Arnold didn't respond.
"Any instructions, sir?" Henry asked.
"No. I'll handle it myself." He tapped his index finger hard on the tablet.
★★★
The café was humming low jazz music, with the scent of cinnamon rolls and caffeine thick in the air.
Freya sat at a small table near the window, stirring her mug of hazelnut coffee.
Alex grinned across from her, his eyes filled with that amused glint he always wore when they were alone.
"Still can't believe you broke Thompson's printer and then convinced him he jammed it," he said in a low voice.
She laughed, tossing her hair back as she whispered, "He did jam it. I just… leaned into the narrative."
"So, if you ever get tired of writing the truth, you could always write fiction. I bet you'd make a dangerous femme fatale." He said with a crooked smile and leaned in, elbows on the table.
"You're dangerously charming, you know that?"
She chuckled and waved him off, missing the way his gaze dropped to her lips for a moment before flicking away like he didn't mean to.
"I'm not charming," she tucked her hair behind her ear. "I'm just scrappy."
"Scrappy's cute."
Freya didn't catch the shift in tone. She just sipped her coffee and kept talking about the upcoming editorial schedule.
Alex watched her with quiet fondness. He liked how she got lost in her thoughts when she talked. How she smiled without realizing it.
He liked her way too much — but she was too focused on chasing stories to notice.
Then the door opened.
A man walked in wearing a dark hoodie, the drawstrings pulled low, a baseball cap angled just right to shadow his face. Everything about him said "don't look at me" — yet somehow, Freya's eyes locked on him instantly.
He stepped up to the counter and ordered an espresso.
"Black, no sugar." His tone was clipped, and even though the barista gave him a cursory glance, no one seemed to recognize him for who he truly was.
Except her.
Her breath caught for a second.
She knew that stance. That walk. Even under layers of disguise, she knew exactly who it was.
Arnold.
He didn't come closer. Not yet. After paying, he took his drink and slid into the farthest corner seat by the window, just close enough to observe but far enough to remain inconspicuous.
From under the brim of his cap, his eyes fell directly at her.
Freya felt his gaze skim across her skin. She shifted in her seat, suddenly aware of how close Alex was leaning.
Arnold's jaw tightened this time around as he watched Alex.
She could feel the heat of his glare without him saying a word.
She straightened her posture, her hands returning to the mug even though she wasn't drinking.
Alex was still talking, oblivious.
"…And then Thompson actually told me I wrote that article like I was sleep-deprived. Can you believe that? I mean, he wasn't wrong, but—Freya?"
Her head turned sharply toward him. "Sorry… what?"
He gave a soft laugh, leaning back. "You okay? You seem… distracted."
"Just thinking about deadlines." She forced a smile.
Arnold lifted his coffee, took a deliberate sip, and set it back down — eyes never leaving her.
It was impossible to focus. Even though he hadn't spoken a word to her, his presence roared.
Then it happened.
Arnold moved. Not dramatically. Just a small, subtle shift.
He leaned to the side slightly and, under the table, raised one hand, crooking a finger once in her direction.
A silent, unmistakable command: Come.
Freya blinked.
She looked at Alex, still mid-sentence, then back at Arnold. He didn't gesture again. He didn't need to.
"I'm just gonna run to the ladies'," she stood abruptly, nearly knocking over her mug.
Alex nodded without a second thought. "Yeah, sure."
And then she walked.
Not to the restroom. Not toward the counter.
She slipped out the side door of the café stylishly. The cool air kissed her face immediately, and she glanced around.
In the corner of the alley just across the building, she found him.