Daphne swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Good for them. After everything with Sabin and Praetorian, they deserve some happiness.”
“Yeah, but—oh, wait! Aren’t you meeting your mystery man right now? Is that why you’re so distracted?”
Her tablet buzzed in her purse, and Daphne fumbled to retrieve it, nearly dropping the device on the sidewalk. A single notification lit up the screen.
Titan: I’m inside. Corner booth by the window. Blue sweater suits you.
Her head snapped up, gaze sweeping across the café windows. He could see her. Right now. Standing here, fidgeting like a teenager before her first date.
“I have to go,” she told Celeste, her voice tight.
“Oh my God, it is him! What’s he look like? Tall? Short? Please tell me he’s not another tech bro with terrible fashion sense like the last guy.”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll call you after.” Daphne pressed her finger to the earpiece to disconnect before her sister could protest further.
She stared at the café entrance, suddenly aware of every imperfection in her appearance—the way her dark hair refused to stay tucked behind her ear, the smudge on her glasses she’d missed that morning, the fact that she’d chosen comfort over style with her well-worn boots. But it was too late to worry about that now.
She took a deep breath and pushed through the door.
The café embraced her with warmth and the rich aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread. The murmur of conversations in French and English created a soothing backdrop as she paused just inside the entrance. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over red leather booths and small round tables. The placeexuded old-world charm with its mirrored walls and Art Deco fixtures.
Corner booth by the window.
She scanned the space, gaze skipping over couples bent toward each other, solitary patrons lost in books or laptops, a group of tourists consulting a map—until her attention landed on the corner booth.
A man stood as he spotted her, tall and imposing in an expertly tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent. Dark hair swept back from a strong forehead. Olive skin. Stormy blue-gray eyes.
Oh… God.
She wassuchan idiot.
Titan.
And who was one of the most well-known titans in Greek mythology?
Atlas.
How could she not have figured this out before now?
Titan—her Titan—was Atlas fucking Frost.
The man she’d been falling for over the past year—the one who’d challenged her intellectually, who’d made her laugh at three in the morning, who’d sent her encryption puzzles that kept her awake for days—was a man wanted by six governments.
From the very first message on that tech forum, from the very first cleverly-worded response to her encryption solution—he’d known exactly who she was. Daphne Wilde. WSW’s cybersecurity department. The family’s digital nervous system. He’d known, and he’d let her talk, let her trust, let her tell him things she’d never told anyone else.
You’re the most interesting person in any room, Daphne. They’re just too distracted to notice.
She’d replayed that line for weeks. Weeks.
The burning sensation behind her sternum sharpened into something she recognized now as fury.
Oh, hell, no.
She turned around and walked out.
The door swung open ahead of her and she pushed through it into the cool spring air of Boulevard Saint-Germain. The temperature change fogged her glasses at the edges. She pulled them off, wiped them on her sweater, and put them back on as she turned left and kept walking.
“Daphne.”
