Chapter 2

Confused

I groaned heavily when the sun’s rays spilled through the glass window, stabbing straight into my barely-rested eyes. The alarm clock on my bedside table glared back at me saying it was already 7:00 sharp in the fucking morning.

Okay, God. I haven’t slept yet thinking about what he said that evening. I tossed my pillow across the room, landing it somewhere near the wardrobe. Great. Stayed up until morning just thinking about him.

This is totally unforgiving.

How the hell did it go from evening to morning just in a blink? My brain had been playing this weird whole day loop, fragments of his voice, the curve of his jaw when he smiled, the heat in his stare that somehow felt… intrusive, yet magnetic. And the worst part? I couldn’t even remember when exactly he slipped under my skin!

Ah, this has to stop.

I sat up, ruffling my hair in frustration. The city outside was already alive, distant horns, hurried footsteps, the faint hum of a street vendor’s cart rolling over uneven pavement. I’d been with Luxe long enough to have seen every kind of man, the kind who buy fantasies like they’re candy, the kind who talk more than they touch, and the kind who leave no trace once they’re gone.

But him? He was completely the opposite! You know, he just left too much of a trace.

I sighed heavily. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, a message from imessage app blinking with three unread messages from the night shift receptionist. My stomach churned, that was unusual. Nobody messaged me this early unless it was urgent.

Receptionist:

“Morning. Mr. Washington asked if you could meet him at the rooftop lounge today. No details given

Said he only trusts you.

Also… he knows about last night.”

Wait, last night? My heart skipped a beat.

I pushed myself out of bed in a sudden move, the polished wood floor cold against my bare feet. Okay, this is getting out of hands. As far as I know, there was a rule in Luxe, unspoken but carved into everyone’s bones.

And that is to don’t get personally involved with the clients. Yet here I was, heart racing over a man I couldn’t stop thinking about… and now he was requesting me.

Wait, he was requesting me? Fucking me? Am I dreaming or what?

At this point it wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It felt like walking toward something dangerous, the kind of dangerous that doesn’t shout, but whispers your name until you’re too close to walk away.

Without thinking too much, I sprinted to my bathroom and turned on the faucet.

The shower steamed up my 10sqm bathroom, wrapping me in heat I didn’t feel. My mind was elsewhere, replaying every glance, every inflection from the brief moments I’d spoken to him.

Mr. Washington wasn’t like most Luxe clients. He didn’t dress his charm in flattery like how other men do it. He didn’t lean in too close or fill silences with rehearsed compliments. He’s just different, you know. He watched. He waited. And when he spoke, it was with the confidence of someone who expected the world to lean in and listen.

And now he mentioned about “last night, whatever that meant.

I dressed carefully, defaulting to something simple: cream culottes pants, a white silk blouse, hair tucked back just enough to show my hoop earrings. Luxe women didn’t just meet clients, they entered the room like the air had shifted to accommodate them.

By the time I walked into the lobby of Luxe, in which I work, obviously, my pulse was a drumbeat I couldn’t slow.

The rooftop lounge wasn’t open to the public before noon. It belonged to Luxe company, an opulent retreat perched twenty stories above the chaos below. The elevator opened to a space that seemed to float above the city, all glass and warm brass accents, with low couches and tables set among potted olive trees.

Beatrice, the night shift receptionist who’d texted me, was perched on one of the barstools, sipping something the color of pale gold. She looked me over like she was scanning for hidden weapons.

“Oh, Eli. Good thing you’re here already. You’re early!”

I smiled. “Better than late.”

She nodded. “He’s not here yet,” she said, sliding me a glass of water. “But he called twice to confirm you’d show.”

I frowned. “That’s… not exactly subtle.”

Her mouth quirked. “Neither is he.”

We traded a few words, but I could tell she was fishing for details about what was meant by Ryder “last night.”

Obviously, I wasn’t that naive to say anything about it. I gave her nothing. Luxe thrived on gossip, but it also thrived on secrets, and I wasn’t about to give mine away. It’s all about confidentiality honey.

Instead, I wandered to the balcony edge, letting the city sprawl beneath me. Cars moved like slow blood cells through concrete veins, the air warm with the promise of summer. Somewhere behind me, a door opened.

I didn’t turn. Not yet.

I heard some footsteps behind me that weren’t hurried, but deliberate. The kind you could almost mistake for casual if you weren’t paying attention. But I was. My pulse betrayed me, speeding in time with each step.

“Admiring the view?”

His voice low, even, but carrying that edge rolled over me before the breeze could.

I finally turned, slow enough to feel deliberate. And all I could say in my mind was: Oh, my God.

Ryder Washington stood there like he’d been carved into the space. Dark blue suit, crisp white shirt, no tie. His coat hung open, his hands in his pockets, as though this wasn’t a meeting but an inevitability. The morning light caught the sharp planes of his face, the faint shadow of stubble, and those eyes, the kind that weren’t content to just look. They searched.

“Uhm… I was,” I said, letting my gaze flick toward the skyline again, “Until you blocked half of it.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

“People say time’s money,” I replied as I stepped sideways, giving him back his view, but not my attention.

His smirk deepened as he came to stand beside me, leaning his forearms lightly on the railing. We were close enough that the faint scent of his cologne, something clean but layered, like cedar under rain reached me.

“You got my message,” he said.

“I did,” I replied evenly. “Three of them, actually. From Beatrice.”

“Efficient woman,” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on the city.

I cleared the airways on my throat. “So uhm… Why did you want to see me?”

“I wanted to speak to you before… other matters took my attention.”

The way he said it, it was so casual, but with a hook buried somewhere in the words made me glance at him.

“Other matters?” I replied.

“Yeah. Business,” he said simply. Then after a beat, he added “And personal.”

I swallowed as I arched my brow. “And I’m in which category?”

That earned me a slow turn of his head, his eyes meeting mine in a way that felt like a challenge. “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” he replied as he smirked.

We drifted toward one of the corner seating areas, all low brass tables and velvet couches. The rooftop’s quiet was almost eerie compared to the city’s pulse below, just the faint clink of glassware from the bar and the rustle of the olive trees when the wind moved through them.

Ryder didn’t sit immediately. He stood across from me, studying me like I was a puzzle missing one crucial piece.

“You were seen last night,” he said finally. “At the Ember.”

That made my stomach tighten, though I kept my expression neutral. “I’m sure Luxe has a lot of clients at the Ember.”

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering whether to press further. “And yet, when I asked about you this morning, the receptionist mentioned… coincidence.”

“That’s a dangerous word,” I said lightly, crossing my legs as I sat. “It makes people think there’s meaning where there isn’t.”

His gaze sharpened. “And is there?”

I didn’t answer. Not directly. Instead, I reached for the glass of water Beatrice had given me and took a slow sip, letting the silence between us stretch. Luxe etiquette 101: never rush to fill the quiet. It gives you leverage.

The conversation shifted, not abruptly, but in a way that felt almost tactical. He asked about the rooftop menu, the view at night, whether I’d grown up in the city. His questions were casual, but his focus never wavered.

I answered some, deflected others. “Born here, yes,” I admitted at one point. “But the city’s like a bad ex. You know, it’ll take you back, but it never forgives you.”

That earned me an actual laugh, low and unpolished. “And yet you stay.”

“Some things are worth the risk,” I said, letting the words hang there.

Eventually, Beatrice drifted by with two small cups of espresso, unprompted, but perfectly timed. Ryder took one, offering a murmured thanks, then nodded toward the seat opposite me.

“Alright. Sit here,” he said.

It wasn’t really a request. And I found myself doing exactly that, drawn in despite the internal warning bells.

We talked for what must have been an hour. About nothing. About everything. He had this way of weaving from sharp, almost intrusive questions into lighter territory, obscure films, cities he’d visited, a story about a business dinner that had gone wrong because the host served shellfish to someone allergic.

And honestly, I didn’t know why we’re talking about these things in the first place, when we’re not close yet and I still haven’t gotten to know him… on a deeper level.

But beneath the banter, there was a current. A steady pull.

By the time I glanced at my phone, nearly two hours had passed. I stood, smoothing my blouse. “Uhm, sorry Ryder, but I should go now.”

His gaze flicked to my hand, then back to my face. “You didn’t answer my question.”

I frowned. “Sorry, which one?”

“Whether there’s a meaning to it,” he replied.

I gave him a faint smile. “Maybe that’s something you’ll have to find out the long way.”

His smirk returned, but softer this time, almost… warm. “Then I guess we’ll be seeing each other again.”

And just like that, three days have already passed like a driftwood catching fire.

It was Monday and I was at a café two blocks from the building in where I work at, seated with two of my oldest friends, Lena, all sharp eyeliner and sharper tongue, and Miri, who looked like she’d walked straight out of a soft-focus magazine spread. We didn’t see each other often, but when we did, it was like picking up a conversation we’d paused mid-sentence months ago.

“…and then,” Lena was saying, “the guy actually asked if my hair and lashes were real. As if extensions are some deep moral failing.”

Miri snorted into her cappuccino. “You do make it look like it defies the laws of physics.”

“Oh, God. I hate men. They do not have sense of humor, and uh! Sense of comprehension. They don’t use their brains at all,” Lena said with frustration.

I laughed, letting their chatter fill the space in my head that had been too full of Ryder lately. But of course, the reprieve was short-lived.

Because when I stepped outside, a black mustang car idled at the curb, and he was leaning against it, sleeves rolled to his forearms, sunglasses catching the late afternoon light.

What the hell? Am I dreaming or was he really there?

“Eli,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be waiting for me on a random Thursday. “Get in.”

And maybe it was the way my name sounded in his mouth, or maybe it was the fact that I wanted to know why, but I did.

We drove. He didn’t say where. Just talked about the neighborhood we passed through, about a rooftop garden he wanted me to see, about nothing that should’ve mattered but somehow did.

When we finally stopped, it was at the edge of the river, the skyline reflected in the rippling water. The air was cooler here, quiet except for the lap of waves against the dock.

But okay. Why are we here again? I still don’t know him that much. I just met him twice! And now, so that makes it three?

He stepped out first, holding the door open. “Come on.”

I followed, my heels clicking against the weathered boards. We stopped near the edge, the city spread out in gold and shadow.

“Uh… Why am I here?” I asked.

His gaze met mine, steady and unflinching. “Because I wanted to know if you’d come.”

And just like that, the air between us shifted, warmer, closer. My pulse kicked, my breath catching. His hand brushed mine, not by accident.

Somewhere in the distance, a boat horn sounded. Here, it felt like the rest of the world had gone still.

And then he leaned in, not close enough to touch, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.

“Careful, Eli,” he murmured. “You might start to matter.”

Matter…

The words hung there, suspended between us like a thread I couldn’t decide whether to pull or cut.

I should have laughed it off. I should have turned, walked back to the car, let the moment dissolve into the background noise of the city. That’s what the rules were for, to keep the lines clear, to make sure moments like this didn’t linger. Instead, I stood there, the dock swaying gently beneath my feet, and let the silence stretch. His gaze didn’t waver, and mine… well, I couldn’t seem to look anywhere else.

I chuckled, trying to mask the nervousness. “Careful is not really my style,” I said finally. My voice was steady, but I could hear my own pulse in my ears.

That earned me the faintest tilt of his head, as if he was filing the answer away for later use. Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the car, leaving me to decide whether to follow.

Okay, what was that?

But of course, I did.

When Ryder picked me up, the city blurred past the tinted window, alive and pulsing under the golden hour light. The scent of rain on hot asphalt mixed with the faint aroma of his cologne, woodsy and clean, like cedar under a fresh drizzle. His voice filled the car, calm but teasing, weaving stories about the neighborhoods we passed and a secret rooftop garden he wanted me to see.

I caught the way his jaw clenched briefly when he glanced my way, as if wrestling with some hidden thought. The city outside was a dazzling chaos, but inside the car, the quiet between us stretched with possibility, charged with something neither of us dared name yet.

The ride back was quieter, though not in a way that felt uncomfortable. More like something had been spoken without actually being said. I kept my eyes on the blur of the city through the tinted window, but my thoughts were tangled, threads of curiosity, warning, and something else I didn’t want to name yet.

When we stopped in front of Luxe, he didn’t kill the engine right away.

“I’ll call you,” he said. Not a question. Not a request.

“You don’t have my number,” I pointed out.

That smirk again. “Don’t I?”

The door clicked open, and I stepped out into the evening air, watching as the car slid back into traffic and disappeared.

I should have gone straight upstairs. But instead, I found myself lingering on the sidewalk, the city’s noise filling the space he’d left behind.

Something was unfolding here and whether it was danger, opportunity, or both… I couldn’t yet tell.

The city lights flickered to life as I climbed the stairs back to my apartment, the cool night air wrapping around me like a whisper. I felt the pulse of the evening, the hum of life and secrets that never quite sleep here in the city. The same city I thought I knew, but somehow, tonight, it felt like an unknown.

I unlocked my door with a hand that trembled slightly, though I told myself it was just the chill. Inside, silence greeted me like an old friend, but my thoughts were anything but quiet.

He might start to matter.

The words circled relentlessly, landing somewhere deep under my skin. I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to disentangle the knot of thoughts and feelings tightening in my chest.

How had I gone from keeping him at arm’s length to wanting to know what was behind those unreadable eyes? Ryder was a puzzle wrapped in a silk scarf, and every time I thought I had a corner to grab, the edges slipped away.

My phone buzzed, breaking the silence.

Beatrice:

Mr. Washington called again. He says he’s serious about seeing you.

I swallowed hard and typed back:

To Beatrice:

Tell him I’m here when he is.

The next morning, the city woke slower, as if it too was savoring the quiet before the inevitable storm. I slipped into my routine, the sleek black pants, the perfect blouse, the precise application of makeup that hid every trace of last night’s restless thoughts. Luxe demanded perfection, and perfection was a mask I wore well.

At the lobby, Beatrice was waiting, her smile sharp and knowing. I nodded at her while also thinking at the back of my head, I haven’t seen Jane yet the past few days.

“He’s waiting on the rooftop again,” she said, eyes gleaming. “And this time, he brought a friend.”

I frowned. A friend?

That was new.

The elevator hummed upward, the familiar hum contrasting with the sudden spike of adrenaline in my veins. The doors opened to the same oasis of glass and greenery, but the air felt charged, alive with an undercurrent I couldn’t name.

Ryder stood near the far corner, his posture relaxed, but his eyes locked onto me like a hunter’s. Next to him was a woman, tall, with an easy elegance, sharp cheekbones, and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Eli,” Ryder greeted without ceremony. “This is Celeste.”

Celeste’s eyes flicked toward me, assessing, before she smiled, but it was cool, almost a test.

“Hi! Mr. Washington has told me a lot about you,” she said smoothly, voice sweet but edged with steel. “I’m here to ensure things remain… proper.”

I forced myself to return the smile, but inside, a flicker of unease sparked. Proper? What exactly did that mean?

Nervous, I still replied. “Uhm, yeah. I hope it’s all good.”

Celeste’s laugh was soft, but there was something in it that made the air between us thicken and somehow awkward. Ryder said nothing, watching us both with that same unread expression.

Why was there a woman other than him? Why was he calling me? What for? Does he like me? Does he want me to do something? Honestly, at this point, I don’t know anymore.

“Shall we?” Ryder finally said, motioning toward a secluded corner.

As we moved, Celeste’s presence lingered, a shadow tethered to him, a reminder that even in this strange new game, I wasn’t the only player.

Ryder ordered an americano, the same small cups as last time and we settled into the velvety couches.

“So…” Ryder said, voice low, “I brought Celeste to make sure things stay… professional.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Professional? I thought Luxe thrived on the personal. Also, I still have no idea what am I here for,” in a nervous tone, I replied.

Celeste smiled, a razor-sharp glint in her eyes. “Personal and professional are often two sides of the same coin.”

I nodded slowly, catching the unspoken warning.

The conversation flowed, light touches on business, veiled comments that seemed to test my limits. Celeste watched my every reaction, and Ryder only half-listened, his attention always slipping back to me.

I felt the tension coil tighter, but also something else, a strange thrill at being pushed, tested.

Days passed like a fever dream. Ryder and I met in stolen moments, rooftop rendezvous, quick lunches under the hum of city noise, texts that flickered between mundane and charged with unspoken promises.

The more I saw him, the more I felt the walls I’d built around myself begin to crack.

One evening, as the sun dipped behind skyscrapers and painted the sky a bruised purple, Ryder caught me off guard.

“I want to show you something,” he said, voice low.

Before I could ask where, he took my hand and led me through narrow alleys and quiet streets until we reached an iron gate. Behind it, a secret rooftop garden, wild and fragrant, blooms tangled with twinkling fairy lights.

“This was my mother’s,” he said softly. “She believed in keeping a piece of magic in the city.”

I ran my fingers along the ivy-wrapped trellis, breath caught between awe and something deeper. But somehow, that face kind of familiar to me like I already saw here somewhere, but at the same time I wasn’t sure.

“Why bring me here?”

His gaze locked with mine, intensity unflinching. “Because you’re different, Eli. Not just another story to pass the time.”

I felt warmth bloom beneath his words, but also the sharp edge of fear. Getting close meant vulnerability and I wasn’t sure if I was ready.

One night, the line between danger and desire blurred. We found ourselves in the dim light of the rooftop lounge, the city stretched out below like a glittering promise.

He pulled me close, voice husky. “You’re slipping into my thoughts when I should be thinking of business.”

I laughed softly, heart pounding. “Maybe business needs a distraction.”

His fingers brushed a stray hair from my face, and the world narrowed until it was just us, breaths mingling, the promise of something unnamed but undeniable.

But just as my guard began to fall, the unmistakable buzz of a phone shattered the moment.

Ryder’s expression shifted, darkened.

He glanced at the screen and then back at me, eyes clouded with a storm I hadn’t seen before.

“I have to go,” he said, voice tight.

I nodded, heart sinking.

As he disappeared into the night, I was left standing under the stars, wondering what secrets he carried and if any of them left room for me. That was the moment I realized, whatever this was between us, it wasn’t simple.

It was dangerous. It was intoxicating.

And it was just beginning. The next morning, Ryder’s office called. He wasn’t there, but his assistant was polite and clipped.

“Mr. Washington will be late,” she said. “There was… an incident. He asked me to tell you he’s okay but unreachable for now.”

My heart clenched. An incident? My mind raced with possibilities, was it business? Personal? Something darker?

I stared out the window at the city, its endless hustle unaware of the turmoil beneath its surface.

Then, my phone buzzed again. This time, a single message from an unknown number I haven’t seen yet.

From an Unknown number:

Be careful who you trust. Not everyone is who they seem.

I stared at it, fingers trembling. Who’s this?

My heart thudded unevenly, a tight knot forming deep in my chest. I hesitated as I stared at the screen. Every instinct screamed caution, but part of me was pulled toward the danger anyway. Below, the city carried on, indifferent. And somewhere, Ryder Washington was caught in a storm I wasn’t sure I could survive.