“Hey,” I say softly, guilt twisting through my gut. “Hey, don’t—” I reach for her instinctively, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have—”
She covers her face with her hands, the sound of her crying hitting harder than any punch I’ve ever taken.
“I just need closure,” she whispers. “That’s all I want.”
For a long moment, I just stand there, useless. Then I pull her gently into me. She doesn’t resist, collapsing against my chest, the weight of her grief pressing through my shirt.
I rest a hand on the back of her head, staring over her shoulder at the city skyline outside. I want to tell her everything. That the arrest is a setup, that the real monsters are sitting at dinner tables laughing about it, but I can’t.
The door opens suddenly, and we both freeze.
My father fills the doorway, his grin wide and knowing. “Ah,” he says smoothly. “You’re busy.”
Leoni steps back quickly, wiping her eyes.
My father’s gaze flicks between us, satisfaction oozing from every word. “You both look like you could use some air. Go for lunch. Somewhere quiet.” He winks at me, the silent message clear—keep her close.Then he produces a business card and slides it towards me.“In fact, take my booking. My car is already downstairs waiting.”
I clench my jaw so hard it aches. “Sure,” I mutter.
Leoni nods uncertainly, avoiding my eyes.
As my father leaves, that familiar sick feeling creeps back in. Guilt. Shame. And hatred. Hatred for him. For the control he holds over me. And for my weakness, because I’m exactly like my mother.
The restaurant my father picked is too clean, too expensive, too public. White tablecloths, silver that could blind you under the lights, and not a single place to hide. Exactly the kind of place where everything looks perfect, and everything is rotten underneath. Because it’s built on corruption and dirty money, just like everything else in my life.
Leoni sits opposite me, fidgeting with the edge of her napkin. She looks small here. Out of place. I shouldn’t have brought her, but my father’s orders were clear.Take her out. Keep her close. Win her trust.
“Nice place,” she says finally, her voice flat. She isn’t impressed. “You eat here a lot?”
I smirk. “Not really. The people are pretentious.”
“So… your people then.”
That catches me off guard, and a laugh slips out before I can stop it. She’s the only woman I know who doesn’t even try to impress me with fake words or compliments.
When the waiter comes, I order for both of us because she’s barely looking at the menu. She doesn’t even argue, which worries me. I never thought I’d miss that irritating little sigh of hers.
Once the waiter leaves, silence settles like dust. She stares down at her glass, eyes shadowed and distant. I should say something, anything, but the words stick in my throat.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she says quietly. “You’re my boss, not my therapist.”
“Maybe I can be both today.”
That earns me the faintest curve of her lips, not quite a smile, but close. “You’re not exactly the comforting type, Warren.”
“No,” I admit. “But I’m trying.”
“Like I said, they arrested someone last night so things should start to feel easier now.”
I grip my glass a little too hard. “That’s good. You hear about these things happening all the time on the news and they never seem to make an arrest.”
She shakes her head, hair falling into her face. “I just… it doesn’t feel right. Nothing about this feels right.”
I force my voice to stay even. “Sometimes these things don’t make sense straight away.”
Her eyes flick to mine. “Do you think they could’ve made a mistake?”
“Arresting this person?” She nods, and I shrug. “I don’t know, but I’m sure they had their reasons. They don’t just pick someone at random.” I almost choke on my words.
