The café smelled faintly of cinnamon and fresh coffee beans, the kind of scent that should have been comforting but only reminded Ayla of how out of place she felt here. She pulled her coat tighter around her and glanced over her shoulder twice before stepping inside.
Leon was already there, sitting in the far corner where the shadows from the street barely touched him. His jacket was tossed over the back of the chair, a glass of water untouched in front of him. He didn't stand when she approached — he just looked at her, and in that single look, she felt the air thin.
"You look…" he started, then hesitated, his eyes searching hers like they were trying to find something she'd lost. "…different."
Her lips twitched into a humorless smile. "Different how?"
"Like you're holding your breath all the time," he said quietly.
She sank into the seat across from him, curling her fingers around the warm porcelain of the coffee cup the waiter had just placed in front of her. "Because I am. Damien…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "He's turning this relationship into a war zone. Every day feels like a battle. I can't even leave the house without feeling like I'm walking through a minefield."
Leon leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table. "Leave him, Ayla."
"It's not that simple." The words came out sharper than she intended, and her throat tightened. "If I walk away now, it won't just be me he punishes. He'll… hurt people I care about."
"Then let me help you." His voice carried that familiar, unshakable conviction — the one she used to love and hate in equal measure.
Her gaze dropped to the table. "You can't help me. You're already in his sights. He's watching you, Leon."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and dangerous. Outside, a bus rumbled past, but inside the café, the world seemed unnervingly still.
Leon reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers — not fully holding, but enough to make her heart stumble. "I don't care how complicated it is. I'm not going to stand by while he—"
The sound of deliberate, sharp heel-clicks sliced through the quiet like a blade.
Ayla's shoulders tensed. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Leon's eyes shifted to the entrance, and there she was.
Maureen.
Her hair was immaculate, her lipstick too perfect, and the slow, deliberate smile curling her lips was the kind that said she knew she'd just walked in at the worst possible moment — and loved it.
"Well," she drawled, sauntering toward them, "isn't this cozy?"
"Not now, Maureen," Leon said, his voice flat but carrying the warning of someone who wasn't about to play games.
"Oh, but now is exactly the right time," she said sweetly, sliding into the empty seat beside him without asking. Her perfume was sharp and expensive, filling the space between them. "You didn't tell me we were having company, Leon."
Ayla's stomach turned, not from jealousy but from the sudden clarity that Maureen wasn't here for him — she was here for her.
Leon exhaled slowly, his patience thinning. "What do you want?"
"Funny," Maureen said, swirling his untouched glass of water like it was hers, "I could ask you the same thing. Out here having coffee with your ex while your girlfriend is at home wondering where you are?"
Ayla blinked, her head snapping toward Leon. "Girlfriend?"
Leon didn't flinch. "It's not what it sounds like."
Maureen smirked. "Oh, it's exactly what it sounds like. Or should I remind you, Leon? I saved your life. You promised me something in return. Don't think I've forgotten."
His expression hardened, but his voice stayed calm — almost too calm. "I didn't forget. You can be my girlfriend for as long as you want. But my heart…" He looked straight at Ayla. "…my heart belongs to someone else. That means no public acknowledgments, no pretending."
Maureen's smile didn't fade, but something in her eyes flashed cold. "You think I can't work with that? We'll see."
The tension between them felt like it could shatter the table. Ayla rose to her feet, the weight in her chest making it hard to breathe. "We're not done talking," she said to Leon, though her voice lacked its earlier steadiness.
Leon gave her a single nod — enough to tell her he wasn't letting this go.
She walked out without looking back, the cold air outside hitting her like a slap. Inside, Maureen leaned back in her chair, her legs crossed like she'd just claimed victory in a game Leon never agreed to play.
"You're making mistakes," she said softly.
Leon didn't answer. He just took the glass of water from her hand, drank it, and set it down with deliberate calm.
"This isn't a game, Maureen," he said finally.
Her smirk deepened. "Everything's a game, Leon. You're just not playing it right."