The city had a rhythm of its own—honking cars, hurried footsteps, and the occasional street musician weaving notes through the chaos. Lila rarely wandered beyond the company or the mansion these days, but that afternoon she found herself slipping into a quiet café tucked between tall glass buildings.
She needed space. Space from Amara's watchful eyes, from the suffocating mansion walls, from her own restless thoughts.
The bell above the door chimed as she entered. The café smelled of roasted beans and warm pastries, a cozy contrast to the cold marble and steel she was used to. She ordered tea, then chose a small table by the window, pulling a slim notebook from her bag.
She had just started jotting down questions about her father's company—names, dates, things that didn't add up—when a shadow fell across her table.
"Miss Brown."
Lila looked up, startled. Adrian Cole stood there, holding a coffee in one hand, his other resting casually at his side. He wore no suit today, only a dark shirt and jacket that made him seem less polished but no less commanding.
"What a coincidence," he said, his mouth curving into that subtle smile.
"Or not," Lila replied coolly, though a flicker of warmth stirred in her chest. "Do you make a habit of following your clients?"
Adrian chuckled, shaking his head. "No. I just happen to like this café. But if you'd rather be alone—"
She gestured to the empty chair across from her. "Sit."
He did, setting his cup down. For a moment, they drank in silence, the hum of the café around them. Then Adrian leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I'm glad I ran into you. I wanted to ask—how much of the files you saw yesterday felt… authentic?"
Lila arched a brow. "None of it. Too clean. Too perfect. They were meant to pacify me, not inform me."
Adrian's eyes glinted. "You're sharper than most people give you credit for."
"I've had to be," she replied simply.
Something in her tone made him pause, as if weighing whether to press further. Instead, he shifted slightly, his gaze thoughtful. "My father used to say the same thing. He was a soldier—sharp mind, sharper rules. He believed the world only respected those who watched every detail."
"Was?" Lila asked softly.
"He passed when I was fifteen." Adrian's voice was calm, but there was a rough edge beneath it. "Left me with his rules, his expectations, and very little else. I guess that's partly why I went into law. It was my way of making sense of his discipline."
Lila studied him. He wasn't telling her this to win sympathy; he spoke with the quiet weight of someone who rarely revealed himself at all. That alone made her trust him more than she wanted to admit.
"I understand," she said finally. "Losing someone who shapes you—it leaves a hole you can't fill. You just… learn to walk around it."
Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them: the recognition of loss, and the strength it demanded.
Before either could say more, Lila's phone buzzed. A message from Arie: Where are you? Amara keeps asking.
Her stomach tightened. She slipped the phone back into her bag. "I should go."
Adrian nodded but didn't rise. "Miss Brown—Lila—just know you're not alone in this. Whatever games are being played, you don't have to play them by yourself."
She hesitated, then gave the smallest of nods. "Thank you, Adrian."
As she left the café, she realized the truth: for the first time since her father's death, she felt the faintest flicker of safety—not in walls, but in a person.
---
Back at the mansion, Amara sat in her study with a glass of wine in hand, her eyes fixed on Jackson.
"She's been meeting with him," Jackson reported. "This afternoon, at a café near the company. Alone."
Amara's fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. "Cole."
"Yes, ma'am."
She rose, pacing slowly across the carpet. "I told the board to play their hand carefully, and instead they've allowed this outsider to wander into my house of cards. Worse—he's becoming her ally."
Jackson shifted uneasily. "Shall I have someone follow him more closely?"
Amara stopped, turning her gaze on him. "No. Not yet. If Cole believes he is untouchable, he'll reveal more. Cutting him off now will only make Lila cling to him harder. No, we'll take a different approach."
"What approach, ma'am?"
Amara's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "We'll invite him in. Offer him a seat at the table. Make him believe he has power here. Men like him—principled, noble—they all think they can bend the rules for the greater good. All I need is one moment of weakness, and he'll belong to me."
"And if he doesn't bend?" Jackson asked carefully.
Amara swirled her wine, the red liquid catching the light. "Then we break him."
---
That night, Lila sat on the edge of her bed, Arie sprawled beside her with her schoolbooks open but barely touched.
"You're distracted again," Arie murmured, chewing her pencil. "Is it… that man from the company?"
Lila stiffened. "What makes you say that?"
"You've been quieter. But not in a bad way. More like you're thinking about something that makes you feel… lighter." Arie smiled softly. "It's good to see."
Lila looked away, pretending to arrange her notes. "His name is Adrian Cole. He's… different. He helped me in the meeting. And today, we spoke. Just spoke."
Arie tilted her head. "Do you trust him?"
Lila hesitated. "I don't know. Part of me wants to. But wanting to trust someone and being able to are two very different things."
Arie leaned against her shoulder. "Maybe he's the kind of person you don't have to decide about right away. Maybe trust can grow slowly."
Lila placed a hand over her sister's. "Maybe."
But as she blew out the lamp and lay in the dark, she couldn't shake the memory of Adrian's eyes—sharp, steady, and filled with a quiet strength that unsettled her more than Amara's threats ever could.
---
In her own room across the hall, Amara stood before her mirror, brushing her hair with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Adrian Cole," she murmured to her reflection. "Let's see how long your principles last when faced with mine."
Her smile was soft, almost tender. But in her eyes burned the glint of a woman preparing for war.