Talia
Talia was practically floating.
The walk back to Elara's was a blur of sunlight filtering through the trees and the fresh, clean scent of pine. The "cleansing" had worked, but not in the way Elara had intended. The dark fog of doubt in her mind had faded, replaced by a bright, warm, and utterly frightening hope.
"See?" Elara said, her voice annoyingly triumphant as she unlocked the front door. "What did I tell you? Bashert! Fate! The man keeps running into you all over the city. The universe is practically hitting you over the head with him!"
"Auntie, he's just a guy," Talia replied, but she couldn't stop smiling; it was a wide, giddy, unstoppable smile.
"He is not 'just a guy,'" Elara scoffed, heading straight for the kitchen. "He is a sign. You were like a ghost, and this man, this 'Jadon'... he can see you. And he's not married! And he's shy! Oh, Talia, it's perfect."
Talia's cheeks flushed. She sank onto a kitchen stool, clutching her phone like it was something sacred. She unlocked it just to see his name in her contacts. She didn't even know what to enter. She simply typed: Jadon.
Just 48 hours ago, it had been the name of a faceless corporate monster: "Jadon Asher."
Now it was just... "Jadon." The man with the sad, icy blue eyes, the man who understood the weight of responsibility, the man who had been too nervous to ask for her number the previous day.
Her heart did a silly, painful, joyful flip.
The phone, which had been a burden in London, was now... a lifeline. It was a small, glass-and-metal box that held all the hope in the world.
She stared at it, willing it to buzz.
Don't be an idiot, Talia, she scolded herself. He's out for a run. He won't text right away. He'll wait. He's... he's in control. He's mysterious.
She sighed and placed the phone face-down on the counter, as if to show she didn't care.
She lasted thirty seconds.
She picked it up again.
Jadon
Jadon was back in the Range Rover, his heart pounding a wild, triumphant, and guilty beat against his ribs.
He was a master manipulator. He was a monster.
And he was, he admitted, thrilled.
The performance had drained him. The calculated runs, the "accidental" bump, the fake surprise, the lie about being shy. It had been the hardest negotiation of his life.
And it had been a stunning success.
He looked at his phone. Talia. He had her. He had a direct line. He was invited in.
Instead of driving to the penthouse, he turned onto a quiet street two blocks away. He parked, still too wired to return to the "cage."
He sat in the quiet, leather-and-steel shell of his car, his mind racing. He had her number. The surveillance felt... different now.
He opened the live feed on his phone. He saw her, a small dot of heat moving around her aunt's kitchen. He saw the feed from the ground operative, "Tango," who was parked in a discreet plumber's van down the street.
It felt crude. It felt wrong.
He had her permission now. He had her number. He didn't need to listen to her private talks with her aunt anymore. He could talk to her himself.
He was evolving his own delusion. He wasn't stopping the surveillance—he would never be that foolish. He would keep the visuals. For her safety, he reasoned. To know where she was.
But the audio... the spying...
He texted Kael.
Pull all audio. Effective immediately. Visual-only on the residence. Tango can stand down. I have direct contact.
A beat passed. Kael replied immediately.
Understood, sir. A-Team is on visual-only.
Jadon tucked his phone back into his pocket. He felt virtuous. It was a twisted and satisfying feeling. In his own mind, he was a gentleman stalker.
Now, the text.
He had to time this right. He had just been "running." He'd go home, "shower," "think." He would wait. He would let her savor that "fated" feeling. He would let her wonder.
He waited two hours.
Two hours of pacing his penthouse, his skin crawling with an anticipation that felt stronger than any billion-dollar deal.
At 1:15 PM, he sat on his sofa, staring at the grey London skyline, and composed the text.
It couldn't seem needy. It couldn't come off arrogant. It had to be... "Jadon." The man from the café.
Jadon: I'm not entirely convinced that wasn't a setup. I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so terrified and happy to see me at the same time.
He hit send.
Talia
She was helping Elara make lunch, chopping parsley, the sharp scent filling the kitchen, while her mind wandered.
Her phone, still face down on the counter, buzzed.
Talia dropped the knife.
It clattered into the sink. She didn't care. Elara didn't even look up, a small, knowing smile on her face.
Talia's hands shook. She wiped her damp fingers on her jeans and grabbed the phone.
A text. From him.
Her heart stopped as she read it.
Jadon: I'm not entirely convinced that wasn't a setup. I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so terrified and happy to see me at the same time.
A sound, a breathless, giddy laugh, escaped her.
He wasn't just "sad" and "haunted." He was funny. He was witty. He was charming. He was acknowledging the absolute, ridiculous strangeness of their encounters.
"Well?" Elara asked, still focused on her kibbeh.
"He... he texted," Talia breathed, a smile spreading wide across her face.
"And?"
"He's... he's teasing me."
"Oh, ho," Elara said, her smile growing. "A sense of humor too. This one... this one is dangerous."
Talia was already typing, her thumbs flying, her heart racing. She erased what she'd written and typed again.
Talia: I'll have you know I'm not in the habit of ambushing strange men in parks. You're the one who ran into me. Again. I'm starting to think you're the one following me.
She hit send, her heart in her throat.
Jadon
His phone buzzed. He had it in his hand. He read her reply immediately.
Talia: ...I'm starting to think you're the one following me.
Jadon's breath caught. The irony was so sharp, so perfect, that he laughed out loud. The sound, a short, rough bark, was strange in the quiet of his penthouse.
He was a monster. He was a liar.
And he was, for the first time in his controlled and joyless life, having fun.