The smell of coffee was the first thing she noticed when she woke.
It was rich, strong, the kind that seeped into the air and settled into the corners of a room. Sunlight spilled through the wide balcony doors, pulling thin threads of gold across the bedspread.
For a moment, Olivia lay still, staring at the ceiling, her mind replaying fragments of last night—the shadows in the foyer, the foreign voices, the black folder. And then his eyes.
That split-second of silent contact that had felt like a spotlight burning straight through her.
She shook herself and got up.
The mirror showed a face that looked like it hadn't slept much. She pressed her lips together, smoothing her hair into something presentable. If Raymond had seen her on the staircase, he hadn't said a word. Maybe—hopefully—he'd pretend it never happened.
She dressed simply: a cream sweater, black jeans. Safe. Unremarkable.
The dining room was quiet when she stepped in. A long table stretched toward the windows, set for two. The morning light filtered through sheer curtains, softening the edges of the room, but the stillness was sharp—too sharp.
Raymond was already there.
He sat at the head of the table, sleeves rolled to his forearms, reading something on his tablet. A cup of coffee steamed beside him, and a plate of untouched toast sat in front of him as though food was an afterthought.
When he looked up, it was with that same cool steadiness she'd felt last night.
"Good morning," he said, voice smooth, almost casual. Almost.
She returned it, forcing her tone light. "Morning."
He gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit. You'll like the croissants—fresh this morning."
Her fingers tightened slightly around the back of the chair before she sat.
The maid entered quietly, setting a plate before her: pastries, fresh fruit, and a small dish of honey. Olivia murmured thanks, though her appetite was nowhere in sight.
Raymond leaned back in his chair, studying her over the rim of his coffee cup. "Did you sleep well?"
It was an ordinary question. Too ordinary.
She kept her eyes on the plate. "Well enough."
"Not too well, I hope," he said lightly, "otherwise you might have missed the beauty of the sunrise."
Her fork hesitated midair. The words were casual, but the way he said them…
A part of her wondered if he meant the sunrise, or something else entirely.
"I guess I'm not much of a morning person," she replied.
He smiled faintly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Mm. You strike me as someone who notices things more at night."
The croissant in her hand might as well have been a stone.
She forced a shrug, aiming for careless. "The city has a different kind of quiet after dark. That's all."
His gaze lingered on her a fraction too long, then dropped back to his tablet. "Interesting."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint clink of cutlery.
Finally, he set the tablet aside and leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table. "Olivia," he said, tone softer now, "if you ever… hear something in this house that you don't understand—don't let it worry you."
Her chest tightened. "Why would I hear anything unusual?"
"That's the point," he said. "You shouldn't. But sometimes…" His eyes met hers, steady, deliberate. "…sometimes people go looking for things they're better off not finding."
She swallowed. "Are you warning me?"
"Not at all," he said, a faint curve of a smile returning to his lips. "I'm giving you advice. There's a difference."
For the rest of breakfast, he said nothing more on the subject. He spoke instead about the weather, an upcoming charity event, and a new art installation opening downtown. But the weight of his earlier words lingered, heavy in the spaces between their sentences.
By the time she excused herself, she was certain of one thing:
Raymond knew she'd been there last night.
And now he was watching to see what she'd do next.