Natasha’s POV.The next day, I sat at the dressing table, watching my reflection while Sylvester paced the room behind me. He had barely said a word since breakfast. His face looked pale, his eyes distant, and his jaw was set in that quiet way that always meant he was fighting against his own thoughts.On the table lay a small box filled with the things Max had brought—tiny recording devices, a necklace, earrings, and a ring that looked simple enough to belong to me. Sylvester reached for the necklace, his hands steady but his voice low when he spoke.“This one records everything within five meters,” he said. “The microphone’s inside the pendant. Don’t touch it once you wear it, not even for a second. If it stops working, Max will alert me immediately.”I nodded, my fingers brushing over the small silver chain before he took it from me and clasped it around my neck. His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, then fell away.“Does it feel too heavy?” he asked.“It’s fine,
Natasha’s POV.The air between us hung heavy after his words. Sylvester stood by the window, hands buried deep in his pockets, his expression hard but shadowed with worry. I could tell he was torn—his mind caught between logic and fear.“I can’t let you do this,” he said finally, his tone low, almost pleading. “It’s too dangerous, Natasha. Josh isn’t someone you play mind games with. He’s unpredictable and ruthless. The moment he senses something’s off, he’ll use it against you.”I swallowed, forcing myself to stay calm. “And what happens if you do it alone, Sylvester? What happens when you chase Henry again, letting it consume every waking thought like it did before?”He turned, his gaze flicking sharply to mine.“You’ll lose yourself,” I said quietly, my voice trembling. “You’ll push everything else aside, and I’ll be here—watching you drown in it again. You think I don’t see it already? The tension, the late nights, the way you stop hearing me when you start thinking about him?”Hi
Sylvester’s POV. Max stood by the door, his jaw tight, eyes flicking to the folders he carried like he wasn’t sure which one to open first. The air in the room was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that only came when you knew something wasn’t just a coincidence anymore. “Talk to me,” I said, moving around the desk and taking a seat. He nodded once, laying the folders on the table. “It’s worse than I thought. Josh isn’t just keeping tabs on your movements—he’s building something. Quietly.” I frowned. “Building what?” “A network. He’s using Henry’s former contacts, but he’s smart about it. Small-time people—bookkeepers, mechanics, and drivers. People that wouldn’t draw suspicion if the police ever looked. But every one of them has had previous dealings with Henry’s operations. Not enough to arrest, but enough to know the streets.” I leaned back, the chair creaking faintly under me. “So Henry’s not just hiding. He’s rebuilding.” “Looks that way. And Josh might be his link to
Sylvester’s POV.Max stood by the door, his jaw tight, eyes flicking to the folders he carried like he wasn’t sure which one to open first. The air in the room was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that only came when you knew something wasn’t just a coincidence anymore.“Talk to me,” I said, moving around the desk and taking a seat.He nodded once, laying the folders on the table. “It’s worse than I thought. Josh isn’t just keeping tabs on your movements—he’s building something. Quietly.”I frowned. “Building what?”“A network. He’s using Henry’s former contacts, but he’s smart about it. Small-time people—bookkeepers, mechanics, and drivers. People that wouldn’t draw suspicion if the police ever looked. But every one of them has had previous dealings with Henry’s operations. Not enough to arrest, but enough to know the streets.”I leaned back, the chair creaking faintly under me. “So Henry’s not just hiding. He’s rebuilding.”“Looks that way. And Josh might be his link to you,” M
Sylvester’s POV.Dinner was quiet, the kind of evening that felt familiar. Natasha sat across from me, her hand resting over her stomach while she spoke about the baby’s movements with a small smile that never failed to soften me. The room was warm, the low light falling across the table in a way that made everything feel calm. I answered her questions, listened to her plans for the nursery, and let her laughter settle something steady inside me.After we ate, she went upstairs to rest. I stayed back for a while, clearing the plates and turning off the lights one by one. When the house was silent, I walked into the study to check the CCTV footage from my own personal end.Since Henry escaped and vanished beyond the reach of the police, the habit of checking these feeds had become a part of my nights. It wasn’t paranoia—it was awareness. I knew what he was capable of. Humiliation was something Henry never forgave, and being wanted, being forced to run, would only fuel him further.I
Josh’s POV.The café was packed that morning, the kind of loud and restless crowd that made my head throb. Plates clattered, steam hissed from the coffee machine, and the smell of burnt milk mixed with sugar filled the air. I tried to stay calm behind the counter, forcing a smile that felt like it was made of glass. I had barely slept last night, and I could feel it in my body.Then the manager’s voice came through the noise, cutting straight through my head. “Josh, can I talk to you for a second?”My stomach sank before he even said what I already knew was coming. I wiped my hands on my apron and followed him to the back room. The door closed behind me, and for a moment the sound of the café faded into a dull hum.“There’s been a mistake with yesterday’s catering order,” he said, his arms folded. “The client said the food never arrived.”I stared at him, my throat going dry. “What? I delivered that myself. I left it at the venue and even confirmed it with the event coordinator.”“We