"We're here…"
Rachel's voice broke the quiet inside the car as it slowed to a smooth stop in front of the hotel entrance. The building stood tall against the fading light, its glass reflecting the warm hues of the California sunset. Even before stepping out, the place carried an air of quiet exclusivity—far removed from the noisy chaos of the outside world.
"Don't forget what you brought," Rachel added, glancing at the rearview mirror.
"I won't," Annie replied softly.
She picked up her small handbag, fingers lingering on it for a second longer than necessary, as if steadying herself. Then she stepped out.
Even with a mask covering most of her face, it was impossible to ignore her presence.
People passing by slowed unconsciously. Conversations dipped. Eyes followed.
It wasn't just beauty—it was something more subtle. The elegance in her posture, the quiet confidence in her movements, the way her heels clicked rhythmically against the ground like a measured heartbeat. It drew attention without asking for it.
She didn't stop.
Head slightly lowered, she walked straight inside.
—
Lucien arrived not long after.
From the moment he saw the address, he already knew this wouldn't be an ordinary place. Restaurants like this weren't just about food—they were about privacy, status, and control. Especially in a city like Los Angeles.
Still, he hadn't gone to buy a suit.
Not out of negligence, but indifference.
He understood clothes. Understood impressions. But he also knew something else—presence could outweigh appearance. And after everything he had been through recently, that presence had changed.
Sharpened.
Deepened.
Refined.
By the time he stepped inside, even the doorman seemed to sense it.
"Mr. Lucien," the man greeted politely after confirming the reservation. "Your companion is already here. Table sixteen, by the window."
Lucien nodded slightly and walked in.
The space was quiet—intentionally so. Wide spacing between tables, low lighting, soft music. A place designed for conversations that weren't meant to be overheard.
And then he saw her.
Annie sat by the window, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. The light outlined her figure in a way that felt almost unreal, like a scene carefully composed for a film.
But what caught Lucien off guard wasn't the setting.
It was her.
She wasn't dressed the way he expected.
Gone was the usual modern style. Instead, she wore a cheongsam—elegant, understated, fitted perfectly to her form. The slit wasn't exaggerated, only revealing just enough of her calf to suggest rather than display.
Her hair was tied up, exposing the graceful line of her neck.
It shouldn't have worked.
And yet, it did.
More than that—it suited her.
When she turned and saw him, her eyes softened.
"Lucien… you're here."
There was something different in her tone. Lighter. Warmer.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he replied as he took his seat across from her.
"I don't mind," she said with a faint smile. "It's not easy to get time with you anyway."
Lucien raised an eyebrow slightly.
"That depends on who's asking."
A small joke—but it landed.
The tension she had been carrying since arriving melted just a little. Her shoulders relaxed, and for the first time that evening, she looked… natural.
Not the actress.
Just Annie.
"You really don't have a phone, do you?" she asked suddenly, as if remembering something.
Without waiting for an answer, she reached into her bag and took out a neatly packed box.
Inside was a brand-new phone.
Simple. Practical. Not flashy—but thoughtfully chosen.
Lucien glanced at it, then at her.
"This is…?"
"A gift," she said quickly, then added, "Well—not the main one."
She opened the phone, dialed a number, and handed it to him—but not before letting it linger in her hand for a moment longer than necessary.
"That's my number," she said softly. "Now you won't disappear on me."
Lucien accepted it, a faint smile appearing at the corner of his lips.
"Convenient."
But he didn't tease her.
Not this time.
Because he could see it.
The effort.
The intention.
Then she took out something else.
A check.
He glanced down.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
Even for someone in her position, that wasn't a small amount.
"This is for… everything," she said, her voice quieter now. "Not just what you did—but… what you had to go through because of it."
Lucien looked at her, studying her expression.
There was no hesitation.
Only sincerity.
"I saw how they treated you," she continued. "And I heard what happened afterward. If it weren't for me asking you to help… maybe you wouldn't have—"
Lucien interrupted her with a soft chuckle.
"You're overthinking it."
But he didn't refuse.
Instead, he accepted the check calmly.
"If it makes you feel better," he added.
It did.
You could see it in her eyes.
Relief.
Not because of the money—but because he didn't push her away.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The atmosphere shifted again—quieter, more intimate.
Lucien leaned back slightly.
"You went through a lot to arrange this, didn't you?"
Annie sighed faintly, glancing toward the window.
"I didn't have a choice."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Paparazzi?"
Her expression changed instantly.
A trace of irritation. Then something deeper.
"They're everywhere," she said, her tone tightening. "You don't see them—but they're there. Watching. Waiting."
Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table.
"They twist things. Make up stories. Dig into your life like it belongs to them."
Lucien said nothing.
He simply listened.
"Normally, I don't care," she continued. "I'm used to it. But you… you're different."
She looked at him directly.
"If they start digging into you, it won't stop at rumors. It'll get worse."
There was something almost protective in her voice now.
Lucien noticed it.
But he didn't comment.
Instead, he asked casually, "Something happened recently?"
Annie hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then she leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice.
"It's about that plane incident."
Lucien's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
The word clicked instantly with what he had seen earlier.
The news.
The premonition.
The unease that hadn't left him since.
"She was on that flight," Annie continued. "A well-known actress. Suddenly lost control—started screaming that the plane would crash."
Lucien remained silent.
Listening.
Observing.
"They said she has mental problems now," Annie added. "Severe paranoia. She thinks something is chasing her."
A faint pause.
Then—
"She might not be wrong."
That last sentence hung between them.
Quiet.
Heavy.
Lucien leaned back slowly, fingers tapping lightly against the table.
That feeling again.
That same subtle pull he had felt earlier in the bar.
The premonition.
The sense that something had already begun moving—long before he noticed it.
This wasn't coincidence.
And it definitely wasn't over.
Annie watched him carefully.
"Lucien… what do you think?"
For a brief moment, he didn't answer.
His gaze shifted slightly—toward the window, toward the fading light outside.
Then back to her.
Calm.
Measured.
"Tell me everything you know."
Because whatever this was…
It had already started reaching into his world.