Lilac Ambrose woke to the sound of rain whispering against her window.
She lay there for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling, letting the night before replay in her mind like a movie she wasn't sure she believed was real. But the faint bruise blooming on her wrist, the one she'd tried not to examine too closely, told her it wasn't just a vivid dream. It had happened. All of it.
The alley.
The men.
And Tristan Caine.
She rolled out of bed, still wearing the black jeans and t-shirt she'd thrown on the night before. She peeled them off, took a hot shower, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hazel eyes looked sharper than usual, her shoulder-length brown hair still damp and curling at the ends. She didn't feel like a girl who'd been saved. She felt like someone who'd just walked too close to something dangerous—and wanted to do it again.
Tristan Caine wasn't a man you met on accident. There was something crafted about him. His quiet authority, the power in his movements, the stillness in his expression—it all hinted at a life lived in shadows. And yet, he hadn't felt threatening. He felt... deliberate. Like everything he did was a calculation—and last night, he'd chosen her.
She checked her phone. No messages. No calls.
Not that she expected any.
But she had his name. And that meant something.
She found him later that evening.
Or rather, she found where he would be.
Lilac had spent the afternoon doing what she did best—digging. She had a knack for research, a side effect of growing up with a journalist mother and a father who'd worked as a political advisor before disappearing under mysterious circumstances. When people asked her what she wanted to do with her life, she told them the truth: "I want to know the things I'm not supposed to know."
The name Caine opened doors. The family was old money, built on trade, real estate, and silent power. But Tristan Caine? He was a ghost. No social media. No photos beyond one outdated headshot in a Forbes article about heirs to powerful families. No public scandals. No social life.
But she found something.
A members-only bar called The Meridian, tucked in a quiet part of the city, known for its discretion and high-profile clientele. And more importantly, she found a license registered in the name Caine Holdings Inc.
She dressed in black again—black trousers, a dark silk blouse, and ankle boots. She brushed a thin line of eyeliner along her lashes, tied her hair back, and slipped her press badge into her purse, just in case she needed an excuse to bluff her way past security.
When she stepped into The Meridian, the world outside vanished.
The interior was a breath of luxury—dark wood walls, gold accents, and low, moody lighting that made everything shimmer like it belonged in a noir film. The air smelled of expensive whiskey and mystery.
She didn't have to search long.
Tristan was seated at the far end of the lounge, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his posture relaxed but alert. He wore another black coat, and this time his hair was slicked back, revealing the sharp lines of his face. He didn't look surprised when he saw her. He just raised an eyebrow.
"You followed me," he said when she approached.
"You didn't give me your number."
"I didn't think I had to."
Lilac sat down across from him without asking. "I said I'd buy you dinner."
"This is a bar."
"They serve food."
He smirked. "You're persistent."
"I'm curious," she corrected.
Tristan studied her, then nodded toward the bartender. "Bring her what she wants."
She ordered fries and a club sandwich, unapologetic. "Don't look at me like that. I skipped lunch for this."
He didn't smile, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Most people don't seek me out. Especially not after meeting me the way you did."
"Well, I'm not most people."
"No," he said, his voice low, "you're not."
There was a moment of silence as the music shifted to something slower. She let her eyes wander to the scars on his knuckles—faint, faded, but real. He noticed.
"You're staring."
"I'm wondering," she said. "What do you do when you're not saving strangers in alleys?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he drained the rest of his drink. Then: "I solve problems."
"Sounds vague."
"It's meant to."
She leaned forward. "So, are you the kind of guy people hire when they have a mess to clean up, or the kind that creates the mess so someone else has to clean it?"
He tilted his head slightly. "That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether they deserve the mess."
That should have unsettled her. But it didn't.
Lilac Ambrose had always been drawn to fire.
And Tristan Caine was smoke and flame and silence all wrapped into one.
"You shouldn't be here," he said suddenly.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not what you think I am."
She raised an eyebrow. "I think you're dangerous."
"Good," he said, standing. "Then we understand each other."
But Lilac stood too. "You saved me. You didn't have to. So either you have a hero complex you don't want to admit, or you saw something in me."
His eyes darkened. "Don't mistake instinct for sentiment."
"I don't. I don't want saving, Tristan. I want to understand you."
"Why?"
"Because you're the first person in a long time who didn't look away."
He went quiet.
Then, in a tone like steel wrapped in silk, he asked, "What do you want from me?"
"A second meeting."
He gave a half-laugh, low and dry. "You're fearless. Or stupid."
"I've been called both."
He considered her, then finally said, "Tomorrow. 9 PM. Meet me at the old observatory on East Hill."
She didn't ask why.
She simply nodded.
The observatory had been abandoned for years, but it still stood proud, like it remembered the days when people came to stare at stars. Lilac arrived a few minutes early, her breath fogging in the chill night air.
Tristan was already there.
He was standing on the rooftop platform, looking out over the city lights below. He didn't turn when she approached.
"What's this place?" she asked.
"My father used to bring me here," he said. "Told me if I wanted to control something, I had to see all of it."
She stepped beside him. "And do you want to control things?"
"No," he said. "But I don't like surprises."
Lilac let that hang in the air. "I did some reading. On your family. Your company. You're not just wealthy. You're... connected."
"Be careful what holes you dig into, Lilac."
"Is that a warning?"
"A favor."
She turned to face him. "Did you kill anyone before last night?"
Tristan met her gaze. "Would it change anything if I said yes?"
"No," she said. "But it would mean you're not lying to me."
He exhaled through his nose, then finally said, "I've done things. For my family. For myself. Things I can't undo."
"I've got secrets too," she whispered. "We all do."
"But mine don't stay buried."
He reached into his coat and pulled something out—a small envelope.
"For you," he said.
"What is it?"
"Proof that someone's watching you."
She froze. "What?"
"After last night, I checked. You weren't a random target. You were being followed. I don't know why yet. But I will."
She stared at the envelope like it was a grenade. "Why would someone follow me?"
"That," he said, "is what we're going to find out."
She looked up at him, her heart racing. "We?"
Tristan's expression was unreadable. "You wanted in, Lilac. This is what in looks like."
And with that, he turned and began walking down the rusted stairs, leaving her holding a piece of paper that might change her life forever.
She followed.
Because some secrets weren't meant to be avoided.
Some were meant to be uncovered.
Even if it cost everything.
End of Chapter 2