Julian's pulse quickened the moment he heard her voice. It had been years—years since he last saw Sienna, since he thought that chapter of his life was buried in some distant desert where duty and heartbreak collided. Yet here she was, standing before him in London, looking as polished and deliberate as ever.
She stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the wet stone of the terrace. Her perfume was the same—subtle jasmine with an edge of smoke, familiar enough to stir old memories he wished he'd forgotten.
"Sienna," he said carefully, "what are you doing here?"
"Is that how you greet someone who once shared your life?" she replied, her lips curving into that half-smile that used to disarm him. "I expected at least a drink, not an interrogation."
Julian's jaw tightened. "You didn't answer the question."
She tilted her head, studying him with unsettling calm. "Relax, Julian. I'm not here to drag up old wounds. I'm here because London has always been… interesting. And I heard a familiar name echoing through the music world—Evelyn Hart. Quite a talent, isn't she?"
His eyes darkened. "Stay away from her."
Sienna laughed softly, the sound like silk over glass. "Oh, come now. You think everything's about her? I'm just curious. I saw the two of you at the museum, and it was… nostalgic. You, standing there with that look in your eyes again."
He took a step forward, his tone low but controlled. "If you came here to stir trouble, you should leave now."
Her smile didn't waver. "You really think you can protect her from everything? You couldn't even protect yourself back then."
Julian's hands clenched into fists, memories flashing behind his eyes—the mission gone wrong, the fallout, the betrayal he could never quite explain to anyone.
"You don't know her," he said finally. "You don't know what she's been through."
Sienna's voice softened, almost pitying. "And you do? After all these years apart? Julian, people change. You of all people should know that."
Before he could reply, she brushed past him, her shoulder grazing his arm. "Don't worry," she murmured. "I'm not your enemy. Not yet."
And with that, she disappeared into the corridor, her heels echoing until the sound faded completely.
Julian stood there for a long time, the cold wind whipping against his coat, his mind a storm of questions. He'd moved on from Sienna—or at least, he thought he had. But her sudden reappearance couldn't be coincidence. And the way she mentioned Evelyn... there was intent behind those words.
–––
Later that evening, Evelyn sat at her piano, fingers hovering over the keys. She'd been practicing for hours, but something kept distracting her. Every few moments, she'd glance at her phone, hoping for a message that didn't come.
Clara, sitting cross-legged on the couch with her art notebook, noticed immediately. "You've checked that thing eight times in ten minutes," she teased. "Are you waiting for the Queen's invitation?"
Evelyn sighed, half-smiling. "Just… a message. From Julian."
Clara raised an eyebrow. "Ah, soldier boy. Didn't you two just have a romantic movie-scene date in the rain?"
Evelyn laughed softly. "It wasn't—well… maybe a little."
Clara grinned, flipping her pencil between her fingers. "You're glowing, Eve. I haven't seen you like this since before your last tour."
"I'm just… happy," Evelyn admitted, looking down at her hands. "It's strange, though. Every time I start to feel at peace, something feels off. Like I'm being watched."
Clara frowned. "Watched? As in… stalker watched?"
Evelyn hesitated. "No, it's probably nothing. Just this feeling—especially when I leave the conservatory at night. Like someone's eyes are on me."
Clara set her notebook down. "You're sure you're safe?"
"Yeah," Evelyn said quickly, forcing a smile. "It's just nerves. You know how it is before a performance."
But that night, when Evelyn closed the piano and walked to her window, she saw a car idling across the street—a black sedan, headlights off. She told herself it was nothing.
Until the silhouette of a woman stepped out.
Tall. Composed. Watching.
And even through the glass, Evelyn could feel the weight of her stare.
–––
The next morning dawned gray and misty over London, a soft drizzle clinging to the windowpanes of Evelyn's apartment. She hadn't slept much—her dreams had been restless, haunted by flashes of rain-soaked streets, the silhouette of a woman under a black umbrella, and Julian's eyes filled with something he hadn't said.
She sat by her piano, a cup of untouched tea cooling beside her. Her fingers hovered over the keys but didn't play. The apartment was too quiet. Even Clara, who usually filled the space with chatter and laughter, was still asleep after a late night of sketching.
Evelyn tried to shake off the unease, but every creak in the hallway made her flinch. She'd told herself it was paranoia—but the car last night had been real. The woman had been real.
And she couldn't stop wondering who she was.
–––
Across the city, Julian sat in a small café near his base, a steaming mug of black coffee untouched before him. His phone buzzed with messages—updates from fellow officers, logistics, training schedules—but his mind was elsewhere.
He couldn't stop replaying Sienna's words.
> "You really think you can protect her from everything?"
It wasn't a threat, not exactly. But it was a warning.
Julian had known Sienna long enough to recognize the undercurrent behind her tone—she never said anything without meaning. And if she was back in London, it wasn't by coincidence.
He finally grabbed his phone, typing a message to Evelyn.
Julian: Morning. You free tonight? I want to talk.
He hesitated, then added another line.
Julian: It's important.
–––
By late afternoon, the clouds had cleared. Evelyn met Julian near the Thames, just as the city began to glow with that golden pre-evening light. He was waiting near the railing, dressed in his usual navy coat, his posture alert but weary.
"You sounded serious," she said softly when she approached.
Julian turned, his eyes warming when he saw her—but the smile didn't quite reach them. "Yeah," he admitted. "There's something you should know."
They walked side by side along the riverbank, the sound of the water lapping quietly against the edge. He took a breath. "Do you remember the woman from the museum? The one who spoke to me?"
Evelyn nodded. "Yes. She seemed… familiar to you."
"She was," he said, his tone darkening. "Her name's Sienna. We served together years ago. She was part of my unit before I left the field. We were close… but things ended badly."
Evelyn stopped walking. "Badly how?"
Julian stared out at the river, jaw tightening. "She betrayed our unit during an overseas operation. Sold classified information to a private contractor. People almost died because of her."
Evelyn's stomach twisted. "Julian… that's—"
"She vanished after that. No trace. Until now." He looked at her, his eyes steady but filled with something that made her heart ache. "Evelyn, she's dangerous. If she's near you, it's not a coincidence."
Evelyn swallowed hard. "You think she's following me?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I can't take that risk. Not with you."
The wind picked up, carrying the faint scent of rain and the river's chill. Evelyn looked away, her hands gripping the railing. "I don't want to be afraid again," she said softly. "Not when everything was finally starting to feel… normal."
Julian turned toward her, his voice gentler. "You won't have to be. Not while I'm here."
She met his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes melting some of her fear. "You can't protect everyone, Julian."
"No," he said, stepping closer, "but I can protect you."
The moment hung between them—fragile, charged. Then, quietly, Evelyn reached up, brushing a drop of rain from his cheek that wasn't there. "You always say that," she whispered.
He caught her hand, holding it just long enough for her to feel the warmth in his touch. "And I always mean it."
–––
But across the street, through the reflection in a shop window, a camera lens glinted faintly.
Sienna lowered it with a smile, scrolling through the photos she'd just taken of them standing together. Her voice was barely a murmur as she sent them to an encrypted number on her phone.
> "He still hasn't told her everything," she said. "But soon… he'll have to."
And somewhere, on the other end of that message, a voice replied:
> "Good. Keep watching. We'll move when she plays."
–––
Evelyn's days began to blur together in the weeks that followed.
Between the upcoming music showcase and her late-night practices, she barely had time to breathe. Her teacher, Mr. Lavigne, had praised her progress, calling her "a natural who plays with her heart first and hands second." The compliment meant more than she expected—it reminded her why she loved music before life had gotten so complicated.
Still, whenever she sat at the piano, she couldn't ignore the tension curling in her chest. Julian's warning about Sienna lingered like an echo. Every time she walked home from the studio, she caught herself glancing over her shoulder, scanning shadows, listening for footsteps that didn't belong.
And sometimes, she felt it—the faint, inexplicable prickle of being watched.
–––
Julian, on the other hand, was unraveling quietly.
Between his duties at the security firm and his attempts to trace Sienna's movements, he barely slept. He'd planted discreet surveillance near Evelyn's building, tracked Sienna's phone activity, and contacted an old friend in cyber-intelligence for help.
But every time he thought he was getting close, the trail disappeared again.
It was as if Sienna wanted to be seen just enough to remind him she could be—then vanish to show she still held control.
One evening, as Julian sat in his dimly lit apartment, the phone buzzed. Unknown number.
He hesitated before answering. "Julian."
> "Still the same voice," came the soft reply—Sienna's. "Always calm, even when you're losing."
Julian's grip tightened on the phone. "What do you want, Sienna?"
> "Want?" she laughed lightly. "You make it sound so dramatic. Maybe I just missed you."
"You followed Evelyn," he snapped. "If you come near her again—"
> "Relax," she purred. "I haven't touched your pretty musician. Yet."
His blood ran cold.
> "You should've told her the truth, Julian. About me. About you. Don't you think she deserves to know what kind of man she's falling for?"
Before he could answer, the line went dead.
–––
The next evening, Evelyn stood backstage, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted her violin's bow. The auditorium beyond the curtain was already filled—hundreds of faces, warm light glinting off rows of polished seats.
This was it: her first major solo performance in London.
Julian had promised he'd come, but she hadn't seen him yet.
Clara stood nearby, a reassuring presence as always. "You're going to be brilliant," she whispered. "Like always."
Evelyn smiled faintly. "You'll tell me if I look like I'm going to faint?"
Clara grinned. "You never faint. You just make people fall for you."
Evelyn rolled her eyes, laughing softly. "You sound like Julian."
"Good," Clara said. "Then I'm right."
–––
As the curtains rose, the audience hushed. Evelyn stepped forward, her heart pounding in rhythm with the applause. She lifted the violin, the bow poised, the silence electric.
Her eyes flicked to the front row—and there he was.
Julian, sitting still among the crowd, his gaze steady on her. He gave a small nod, just enough for her to see.
And she began to play.
The first notes were soft, trembling like a confession. Then they grew bolder, her hands moving with a freedom she hadn't felt in weeks. The melody swelled, a blend of pain, beauty, and hope—everything she'd been too afraid to say aloud.
In that moment, the world narrowed to sound and light and heartbeat.
But in the shadows of the balcony above, a figure leaned against the railing, her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. Sienna's phone was out, camera recording, but her attention wasn't on Evelyn.
It was on Julian.
–––
After the performance, applause filled the hall, a thunderous wave of admiration. Evelyn bowed, smiling despite the tears in her eyes. For the first time in months, she felt alive.
When she exited backstage, Julian was waiting. He didn't say a word—just pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.
"You were… incredible," he murmured against her hair.
Evelyn smiled against his chest. "You made it."
"I'd never miss it," he said.
For a few perfect seconds, everything felt right again.
But then, over his shoulder, Evelyn saw a familiar face among the crowd leaving the auditorium—dark hair, red coat, the same woman from the museum.
Her smile faltered.
"Julian," she whispered, her pulse quickening. "She's here."
He turned instantly, scanning the crowd—but Sienna was already gone.
–––
Later that night, when Julian checked his phone, an anonymous message waited for him.
> "She plays beautifully. Shame if someone used her for the wrong audience."
And attached to it was a short video clip—Evelyn on stage, unaware that someone had placed a small black device beneath the piano.
–––