"So tell me, Tony, what's your real name?"
Clara's words hit like a soft slap across the face. Calm, controlled, but sharp enough to leave a sting. Tony froze. Not physically—but in his head, time faltered.
His lips parted slightly, but no sound came. What was he supposed to say? That he had no idea who the real Tony Bellingham even was anymore or where he was? That the name Kai still clung to him in the corners of his memory, like the smell of smoke long after a fire had been put out?
Clara waited. Not impatiently. Not smugly. Just... calmly. Like she already knew the answer but was giving him the chance to either lie well—or simply confess the truth.
He looked down at his coffee. The crema in it had broken slightly, the heat steaming off its surface. He took a sip, anything to buy a second more of thought.
"That's a pretty loaded question," he muttered, finally. He gave a crooked smile. It wasn't charming—it was simply stalling.
Clara raised an eyebrow. "Is it? I thought it was simple. You know, like... what's your favorite color?, your favorite snack, game,food,movie,song? Or... are you the guy everyone thinks you are?"
"That last one's not exactly on the Buzzfeed personality quiz list," he replied, trying for levity.
(She's unto him)
"No, but it's a fair question. One someone in your position should expect and accept."
He leaned back in the velvet chair, exhaling. The weight of the café's perfect atmosphere, the way every element seemed curated and luxurious, suddenly felt like too much. He couldn't tell if the warmth in the room came from the golden lights—or the way Clara was slowly turning the screws.
(She's really unto him, Anything could happen now)
He looked at her, thought for a split second and turned the question back at her. "Clara, Why do you want to know?"
Clara didn't blink. "Because I like knowing who I am really having coffee with. You know...Just for safety and clarity."
The directness of her words made something inside him crack a little. She wasn't playing games. Or if she was, she was playing them more better than he was.
"Is this how you normally talk on your first dates?" he tried.
"Is this how you normally dodge questions?"
He chuckled, but it felt hollow.
(Really Hollow.)
She leaned forward just a bit. Her rose latte sat in front of her, looked at her, untouched now, the swirl in the foam beginning to blur.
"Okay," he said, voice lower. "Look... if I told you my name wasn't always Tony, would you believe me?"
"Yes, I would," she said.
He blinked.
"That easy?"
She nodded. "Because I...kinda already know it."
Silence.
His pulse spiked. "You... what?"
Clara tilted her head slightly, eyes still calm but locked on his like a hawk. "Kai, right? Or am I off?"
"How ....how did she find out?" That was the only thought that flew in Tony.....well Kai's brain.
" Is that really how my story end? This early....too early."
The world tipped sideways for a second. It felt like someone had taken a chisel to his armor and found the softest point.
He covered the flicker of panic with a smirk. "Been doing some digging, Clara?"
"Let's just say you're not the only one here with secrets, Tony."
The hum of conversation around them continued. The distant hiss of the espresso machine. The faint clink of cups. The outside world didn't seem to notice the tension curling around their table like red hot steam.
He stared at her for a long beat. "So what now? You gonna try blackmailing me? Or are you planning to expose me?"
She snorted. "Don't flatter yourself. If I wanted to blow your cover, I would've done it in public. With a bigger audience."
Tony laughed despite himself. "Well, I'm glad this is just coffee and threats. I was really worried it might get awkward."
She smiled. "Oh, it's already awkward. But you're handling it well."
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers combing out the stress. "So what's the real game here, Clara? You playing detective? Secret agent? Concerned citizen?"
"Friend."
That stopped him again.
"Friend? What the..."
He looked at her skeptically. "You're trying to be friends with a guy who's lying about his entire identity?"
She leaned in, chin resting on her hand. "Maybe that's exactly why."
He stared, unsure whether to laugh or walk out.
Clara's voice softened. "I've been watching you since the gala. You're not like the others. The way you looked around, like everything was foreign. Like you were trying to memorize how rich people walk and talk."
"Maybe...i.....I'm just socially awkward," he replied.
She laughed. "You're a lot of things, Tony—Kai—but you're not awkward. You're sharp. You just... don't belong. And that's not a bad thing. It just means you're not one of them."
"And you are?"
Clara shrugged. "I was born into this. Doesn't mean I like it."
They sat in silence for a moment. The café, for all its luxury and charm, now felt like a neutral zone. A safe space. Two imposters hiding in plain sight.
Tony took another sip of his coffee. It was cooler now. Not bitter—but real.
"So," he said, voice low. "What happens if I tell you the truth? The full truth?"
Clara's gaze didn't waver. "Then I'll listen."
He looked down at the table. At the shine of the glass. At the way her fingers curled lightly around her cup.
And for the first time since waking up in this borrowed life, he thought—maybe, just maybe—he could trust someone.
(Would that be a mistake or would that aa good thing)