CHAPTER 39: A DATE WITHOUT SECURITY

I stared at the photograph for almost ten minutes before closing my laptop.

Clara Bennett stood beside a younger Alexander, her hand resting on his arm. They looked comfortable together, as if they had known each other for years. The photograph was taken fifteen years ago, around the time Evelyn disappeared and Alexander's father died.

There were too many questions, but I refused to create answers from my imagination.

I could have called Alexander immediately. Instead, I decided to wait until we could talk properly. If we were going to build something honest, I couldn't keep treating every unanswered question like another secret waiting to destroy us.

The following afternoon, I sent him a message.

Are you free tonight?

His reply came quickly.

For you, yes. Is something wrong?

No. I want an evening without business, security arrangements, or expensive plans.

A few seconds passed.

That sounds suspiciously specific.

I laughed.

And I'm choosing where we go.

I'm beginning to think I should be worried.

Seven o'clock. Don't be late.

His response was simple.

I'll be there.

At seven, Alexander arrived outside my apartment wearing dark jeans, a black shirt, and a jacket. He looked less like the intimidating billionaire who commanded an entire company and more like an ordinary man trying to impress someone.

He glanced towards the street.

"Where's your driver?" I asked.

"At home."

"Your security team?"

"Also at home."

I raised an eyebrow. "You actually listened."

"I was given very clear instructions."

"Good. Let's go."

I took him to a small street market a few blocks from the centre of the city. It wasn't particularly fashionable or expensive. There were food stalls, second-hand bookshops, small jewellery stands, and tiny cafés with outdoor tables. I used to come here with my father when I was younger. He would buy me roasted chestnuts and let me choose one second-hand book, even when money was tight.

I hadn't visited in years.

Alexander looked around as we walked between the stalls. "This is where you wanted to come?"

"Yes. Is there a problem?"

"No." He glanced at a man selling flowers. "I'm just trying to understand why you brought a billionaire somewhere he could buy everything for less than the price of his usual coffee."

I laughed. "Perhaps that's the point."

We stopped at a food stall, where I ordered two portions of grilled chicken wraps. Alexander studied the menu as though it contained a complicated financial agreement.

"You're taking a long time," I said.

"I'm considering my options."

"It's a food stall, Alexander. Not a business acquisition."

He looked at me with a faint smile. "I'll have the same as you."

"Good decision."

We found a small table near the edge of the market. The food was simple, the chairs slightly uncomfortable, and the music from a nearby stall was far too loud. Alexander seemed unsure what to do with himself at first, but gradually he relaxed.

He even laughed when a little boy ran past us carrying a balloon that escaped from his hand and became tangled around Alexander's arm.

"Don't move!" I said, trying not to laugh.

"I'm not moving."

"You're looking very concerned."

"I'm being attacked by a balloon."

I laughed so hard that I had to put my drink down.

For a moment, everything felt wonderfully ordinary.

We walked through the market afterwards, looking at handmade jewellery and old books. I stopped at a small second-hand bookstall and picked up a worn novel.

"My father used to bring me here," I said. "He always said a good book could take you somewhere money couldn't."

Alexander looked at the book in my hands. "He sounds like he knew what mattered."

"He did. Even when we didn't have much, he found ways to make ordinary days feel special."

Alexander was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I think I would have liked him."

I looked at him. "I think he would have asked you some difficult questions."

"Then I would have deserved them."

His answer made me smile.

We stopped near a small café at the end of the street. I ordered tea, and Alexander ordered coffee. While we waited, I took Clara's business card from my handbag.

"There's something I wanted to ask you."

His eyes moved to the card.

"Clara Bennett?"

I nodded. "I met her at a design exhibition yesterday. She was interested in my work, and we had a pleasant conversation. But she asked me about you and the company's former leadership."

Alexander studied the card carefully. "Where did you meet her?"

"At the gallery. She gave me this."

I took out my phone and showed him the photograph I had found online.

His expression changed.

It wasn't shock exactly. It was recognition mixed with something older and more difficult to explain.

"That's Clara," he said.

"I thought you might recognise her."

He placed the phone on the table. "She worked with my father years ago. She was involved in some of the company's property development projects and attended several family events. She was around frequently when I was younger."

"Was she close to your family?"

"Close to my father professionally. They trusted her opinion. She was intelligent, ambitious, and very good at understanding people."

I watched him carefully. "Were you close to her?"

"Not particularly. She was older than me, and I mostly knew her as one of my father's associates. She sometimes spoke to me about the business, especially when my father wanted me to understand how the company operated."

"Why would she ask me about the former leadership?"

Alexander leaned back slightly.

"I don't know. But if she was working with my father during that period, she may know things about the company that I don't."

"Did she know Evelyn?"

His eyes briefly lowered.

"Yes. They met several times. I remember Clara attending a few meetings with her, although I never knew how close they were."

That caught my attention.

"Did you know Clara was still working as a consultant?"

"No. We haven't spoken in years."

I took a sip of tea. "Do you think she approached me because of you?"

"I can't tell you that. But I don't want you to assume her intentions are bad simply because she knows my family."

"Neither do I. I just thought you should know."

He nodded. "Thank you for telling me."

There was no anger in his voice, no attempt to change the subject, and no accusation that I had been investigating him behind his back. He simply accepted that I had a question and deserved an honest answer.

"There's something else," he said after a moment. "If she contacts you again, you don't have to meet her just because she has connections to my family."

"I know."

"And if you do meet her, I'd appreciate knowing."

I tilted my head. "Because you're worried about me?"

"Because there are still parts of my father's business dealings that haven't been fully understood. I don't want you caught in something you didn't choose."

I reached across the table and touched his hand.

"I appreciate that. But I don't want to be kept away from things simply because they're uncomfortable. If something concerns me, I want the truth."

He turned his hand beneath mine, gently holding it.

"Then I'll tell you what I know."

We stayed at the café until the evening grew colder. When we finally left, Alexander walked beside me without rushing. Our shoulders occasionally brushed, and neither of us moved away.

At the entrance to my street, he stopped.

"I had a good evening," he said.

"Even without expensive restaurants and private dining rooms?"

"Especially without them."

I smiled. "We should do this again."

"I'd like that."

He leaned closer, giving me enough time to step away if I wanted to. I didn't. His lips met mine in a gentle kiss, and for a few seconds, the noise of the street seemed to disappear.

When we separated, he rested his forehead against mine.

"Goodnight, Amelia."

"Goodnight, Alexander."

He waited until I reached my building before turning towards the main road. I watched him disappear into the evening crowd, then went upstairs with a smile I couldn't quite hide.

Neither of us noticed the man standing beside a parked car across the street.

He had been watching us for several minutes. As Alexander walked away, the man raised his phone and checked the photograph he had just taken.

The image showed Alexander holding my hand outside the café, his face turned towards mine.

The man sent it to an unknown number.

A few moments later, a reply appeared.

So, Alexander has started again.

Another message followed.

Find out who she is. I want to know everything about Amelia Carter.

And then, after a brief pause:

This time, don't let him make the same mistake.