I was already at the café downtown, sipping on a latte I didn't really need but liked holding. The morning rush was in full swing, baristas shouting names, people bumping into each other, the smell of roasted coffee beans hanging thick in the air. I kept my hood up, sunglasses on, pretending I wasn't paying attention to anyone. But I was.
Always.
He came in like he owned the place, which I guess he did in a way. Dark suit, perfectly tailored, shoes that looked like they cost more than my rent. His presence wasn't just noticeable—it demanded attention. People stepped aside, whispering as he walked past. I didn't look up. I didn't want to.
He sat at the corner table and ordered something expensive, complicated, his voice low but commanding. I watched from my seat, pretending to scroll through my phone, but I didn't miss a thing. Men like him were dangerous. Attractive, powerful, and the kind who thought the world existed to bend to their will.
When he finally looked up, our eyes met for a second. I kept looking down, heart rate ticking faster than I wanted. It wasn't fear exactly. More like a recognition that this man was trouble in the most permanent way.
Then his assistant approached me. She didn't look happy. "Miss Carter?" she asked.
I nodded, unsure.
"You've been requested," she said, her tone sharp but not rude. "Mr. Cole will see you now."
I followed her, my bag tight against my side. The air in the building smelled like polished wood and something cold I couldn't name. I knocked on the door and entered when she told me to.
He was sitting behind a massive desk, looking at some papers. When he looked up, it was like the air changed. He didn't smile. He didn't welcome me. He didn't even say hello. He just stared, and it felt like the weight of every choice I'd made was being measured in that one glance.
"You're Miss Carter," he said finally. His voice was flat, precise, like it had been practiced to cut through noise.
"Yes," I said, keeping my tone calm.
"I hear you do this work out of necessity," he said, leaning back, arms crossed. "I've met women like you before. You think your beauty makes you untouchable. That men will give you respect because you're careful, because you know how to play the game. But it doesn't. It never does."
I swallowed, keeping my posture straight. I didn't flinch. I wasn't supposed to. "I know how to survive," I said.
He studied me, dark eyes scanning me like I was both a puzzle and an annoyance. "Survival doesn't make you anything but prey in my world," he said. "Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said.
He nodded once, as if satisfied with the answer. Then he waved me toward the door. "Wait here. I'll be back."
I stayed, pretending to sip my coffee while my stomach knotted. Something about him didn't feel normal. It wasn't just his power. It was the way he looked at me, like he already knew my weaknesses, my habits, maybe even the things I didn't admit to myself.
When he returned, it was quick. He didn't bother with conversation. He just handed me a card, his fingers brushing mine for a fraction of a second, cold but firm. "You'll be hearing from me," he said.
Then he left, and I sat there, heart racing, staring at the card like it was a warning and a challenge all at once.
The city outside continued moving. People walked past, talking, laughing, living. And I realized that for me, nothing would ever feel normal again.