I tried to bury the memory of him under piles of work. Every page of the case file I studied, every late night I spent in my office, I told myself that the courtroom encounter was nothing. Just a stranger, just a man whose presence had unsettled me for reasons I couldn't explain.
But some people stay in your mind not because you want them there, but because they don't fit. Adrian was like a misplaced piece of a puzzle—strange, unnecessary, but impossible to throw away.
Three days later, fate—or maybe misfortune—decided to place him before me again.
It was late in the evening when I stepped into a quiet café near my apartment. I was tired, my head heavy with the names and connections I had been tracing in that cursed file. I only wanted silence, the comfort of coffee, maybe a moment to breathe without the weight of duty pressing on my chest.
And then I saw him.
He was sitting by the window, the dim light tracing sharp lines across his face. A glass of whiskey stood untouched before him. He wasn't reading, wasn't speaking to anyone. He was simply… waiting. For what, I couldn't tell. But when his eyes lifted and locked onto mine, my stomach tightened.
I should have turned and left. Instead, I stood frozen, betrayed by my own hesitation.
He rose smoothly, almost too easily, and walked toward me.
"May I sit with you?" he asked, his voice calm, his accent faint but unmistakably Russian.
I should have said no. Every instinct whispered caution, but my lips formed the word before I could stop them.
"Yes."
He sat across from me, and suddenly the café felt smaller, as though the walls had shifted closer. The air itself grew heavier.
We began to talk. Small things at first—where I worked, what I liked about the city. I told him, briefly, that I was a lawyer. He leaned forward at that, his eyes sharpening, though his smile never wavered.
"A difficult job," he said.
"It has its challenges," I replied, careful, cautious.
When I asked about him, he gave me a simple answer. "Businessman." Nothing more. No details, no explanations. His gaze met mine, steady, unflinching, as if daring me to question him further. I didn't. I wasn't curious. In fact, the less I knew, the better.
I didn't feel drawn to him, not in the way stories often describe. There was no spark, no trembling in my chest. Only caution. He was a mystery, and I had no desire to chase mysteries. Especially not now, not with the shadows already creeping into my life through the case I carried.
And yet, I couldn't deny that there was something in the air between us. Not attraction—tension. A silent warning.
We spoke for nearly an hour, though nothing of substance passed between us. His words felt carefully chosen, like stones laid out to cover a deeper path. And when I finally excused myself, I left with more unease than I had entered with.
The night was colder when I stepped outside. The streets were nearly empty, the lamps throwing long, lonely shadows across the pavement. I walked quickly, clutching my bag, the sound of my heels sharp against the ground.
And then I heard it.
Footsteps. Slow at first, then matching my pace.
I didn't turn. I didn't dare. But every part of me knew—I wasn't alone.