Chapter 10 - Letting Go

Marcus

I don't follow her.

Every instinct I have, both professional and personal, screams at me to go after her, but I stay seated at the table, watching Sophia's retreating figure through the restaurant's front window until she disappears around the corner.

The waiter approaches cautiously, probably wondering if he should call security or just bring the check.

I wave him off and drain what's left of my wine, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

She ran. Not walked away with dignity, not made a polite excuse about early meetings, she ran away.

Which means I got to her, and that should feel like a victory.

Instead, it feels like I just watched something fragile shatter.

My phone buzzes with a text from Elena: How's your ‘client dinner’ going?

I stare at the screen, then delete three different responses before settling on, Complicated.

Her reply comes immediately. Don't do anything stupid.

Too late for that advice. I've already done something monumentally stupid by telling a woman I've known for less than a week that she terrifies me.

A woman who lies as easily as breathing, from her name to her net worth, who treats every room like a map to freedom and every question like a trap she knows how to spring.

A woman who might be looking for a way to burrow into my business for reasons I can't begin to guess.

I should be analyzing the three background checks I've already run on her.

Agent Rodriguez has been breathing down my neck for updates, and I've been stalling because... what?

Because she has beautiful eyes? Because she makes me laugh? Because when she looks at me like she did tonight, like she's trying to decide if I'm worth the risk, I forget that everything about her identity is fabricated?

"Pathetic," I mutter, signaling for the check.

The truth is, I meant everything I said to her.

About recognizing the signs, about being attracted to her, about both of us performing.

What I didn't tell her is that I've been performing for so long, I'm not sure I remember how to be real anymore.

Two years of being undercover FBI while playing successful businessman while investigating potential criminals will do that to a person.

Elena thinks I'm just her business partner.

The Bureau thinks I'm their golden boy who can infiltrate any wealthy criminal network.

My clients think I'm some kind of relationship guru who can solve their romantic problems with the right algorithm.

None of them know that I lie awake at night wondering if I'm becoming the kind of man who can't tell the difference between a cover story and the truth.

Until Sophia walked into my office three days ago and looked at me like she could see right through every carefully constructed layer.

My phone buzzes again. This time it's Rodriguez. Need that analysis on Sterling. First thing tomorrow.

I pocket the phone without responding.

Tomorrow I'll have to make a choice.

The rational part of my brain knows what I should do.

Sophia Sterling, or whoever she really is, has a perfectly fabricated identity that required serious skills to create.

The way she moves, the way she processes information, the way she asked about my business tonight... she's not just someone with a fake name.

She's investigating something, and someone with resources is backing her.

The question is what her endgame is.

Is she looking for a way in so she can get to my clients?

Or am I what she's investigating?

If she exposes me, whoever did this will panic, and every lead I have will go up in smoke. Leaving me hight and dry with a killer still on the loose.

I pay the check and step out into the Chicago evening, the October air sharp against my skin.

For a moment, I consider walking in the direction she went, but that way lies madness. Or at least professional suicide.

Instead, I head toward my car, pulling out my phone to call Elena.

She answers on the second ring.

"Please tell me you didn't sleep with her," she says without preamble.

"Good evening to you too."

"Marcus, I'm serious. I know that tone. It's your 'I'm about to do something that will complicate everything' tone."

I unlock my car and slide into the driver's seat.

"I find it very offensive that you imagine I could have slept with her between your last message and this call."

Her voice softens. "What happened tonight?"

I start the engine but don't put it in drive. "I told her the truth."

"Which truth?"

"That I'm attracted to her. That she scares me. That I think she’s lying about something."

Elena is quiet for a long moment. "And?"

"And she ran."

"Smart girl."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Marcus." Elena's voice takes on that patient tone she uses when she thinks I'm being particularly dense.

"You're a good man. And from what I’ve heard, a very thorough lover. But your life is complicated enough without adding a woman who's clearly hiding something. And if she isn’t, she’s a client. You need to maintain professional boundaries. It would be a disaster for the business if she accuses you of acting inappropriately."

She's right. I know she's right. But there's something about the way Sophia looked at me tonight that makes me want to ignore every rational thought in my head.

"What if she's not what we think she is?" I ask.

"What if she's exactly what we think she is?"

I don't have an answer for that.

"Go home," Elena says gently. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow you can decide if you want to keep playing with fire."

After she hangs up, I sit in the parking lot for another ten minutes, staring at my phone.

I could call Sophia right now. I could text her, ask if she made it home safely, tell her I'm sorry for pushing too hard.

Or I could do what I've been trained to do. Investigate first, feel later.

The smart play is obvious. Tell Rodriguez about her investigative behavior and professionally faked identity. Keep my cover intact and my conscience clean.

But as I finally pull out of the parking lot, I can't shake the memory of her fingers under mine, or the way she whispered, "What if the truth ruins everything?" like she was talking about more than just dinner conversation.

Maybe the truth will ruin everything.

Or maybe it's the only thing that can save us both.

Either way, I'm going to find out.