Julian was gone when Ava woke.
The side of the bed where he had been was still warm, and the scent of his skin lingered faintly on her pillow — leather, rain, something darker. She reached for her phone instinctively, even though he'd never given her his number. He always showed up. Never texted. Never called.
Until that one night.
She sat up, heart thudding with a familiar feeling: absence. A note lay on the nightstand, folded once, no name on it.
*"Had to clear my head. I'll find you soon. – J"*
No "I'll call," no "see you tonight," just that—vague, soft, yet final in its own way.
Ava held the note like it might disintegrate. The warmth from the night before had barely faded from her skin, and already doubt seeped in.
She hated how fast it happened. How easily she could go from cherished to discarded.
Her day at the publishing house crawled by. Manuscripts piled up unread. Emails unanswered. She stared at her laptop screen for so long, the blinking cursor felt like a countdown to something she couldn't name.
By evening, she gave up.
The rain had started again—heavier now, like the sky was trying to speak in code. She walked the streets anyway, aimless, her coat pulled tight, scarf clutched in her fingers like a lifeline. She told herself she wasn't walking toward the café.
But she was.
And when she reached it, she stopped cold.
Because Julian was already there.
Not inside. Outside. Across the street. Standing under the awning of a closed shop, speaking to someone Ava couldn't fully see—a tall man, sharp suit, broad shoulders. Julian's posture was tight, his head low, the other man gesturing with slow, deliberate movements.
It wasn't a conversation.
It was a warning.
Ava ducked into the shadows beside a parked car, heart pounding. The man handed Julian something—a small envelope or a folded slip of paper—then walked away, vanishing into the mist like a ghost.
Julian didn't move for several seconds. He just stood there, shoulders heavy.
Then he turned.
And saw her.
Their eyes locked across the wet, empty street. She didn't move. Neither did he.
Then slowly, he walked over.
Ava didn't speak. She didn't know how to.
"I was going to tell you," he said, stopping just feet from her. "But I needed time."
"To lie?"
Julian flinched. "No. To protect you."
"From what?" she snapped. "From *you*?"
He looked exhausted. "From *them*."
He pulled the envelope from his coat and offered it to her. She took it with trembling fingers, opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Ava. Sitting in the café. Alone. Taken from outside the window.
And beneath it, a typed message:
*"We see her too. Choose wisely."*
Her stomach dropped.
She looked up, eyes wide. "What is this?"
"They're watching you now. Because of me." Julian's voice cracked. "They think you're leverage."
Ava took a step back. "What have you done, Julian?"
"I didn't steal anything," he said. "But I know what they did. I know where the files are—proof of the forgeries, the false sales, the hidden accounts. And they know I know."
"And now they know *me*," she said, voice low.
Julian reached out, but she pulled away.
"I didn't want this," he said, broken. "I didn't mean to pull you in."
"But you did."
Rain streaked between them like falling glass. People moved past, unaware of the storm between two people standing still.
Finally, Ava looked up.
"Tell me everything. No more secrets. No more disappearances. I deserve that."
Julian nodded, slowly. "I'll tell you. All of it."
"Tonight."
He looked at her for a long time. "Then come with me."
"Where?"
He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her.
"To the place I've been avoiding since I got here. The gallery's safehouse."
Ava swallowed.
This was it. The line between danger and truth. Between trust and survival.
And she stepped over it.
He reached into the pocket of his coat draped on the chair. Pulled out a small, worn photograph.
He handed it to her.
It was a candid shot—a woman in a gallery, mid-laugh, champagne glass in hand, head tilted back. Beautiful, wild, unforgettable.
"My ex," he said quietly. "Noura."
Ava stared at the image, unsure why her stomach tightened. Was it jealousy? No. It was the look in the woman's eyes—carefree, untouchable. Dangerous.
"She looks… powerful," Ava said.
Julian nodded. "She was. Still is."
"Why do you still carry this?"
He took a breath. "Because I keep forgetting what she really is. And sometimes… I need to remind myself."
Ava looked up. "You're afraid she's coming back."
"No," he said. "I think she never left."
He got up, pacing now. "Elias wasn't just watching me that night. He wanted me to *know* he was watching. That's a message. She's nearby. Maybe already here. And if she is…"
"You're not alone this time, Julian."
"I don't want you pulled into this."
"It's too late," Ava said. "You're already in my life. In my *bed*, remember?"
That shut him up for a moment. But he didn't argue.
Ava stood and crossed to him, the sheet wrapped loosely around her. "What does she want?"
He hesitated. "There's a chance she's looking for something I still have."