Chapter 2: WEAPONIZED CAFFEINE

CHAPTER 2 : WEAPONIZED CAFFEINE

And before he could do anything about it, before any of the mechanisms he'd spent years building could kick in, the terminal blurred, and he was back.

Five years ago, Heathrow Private Terminal.

He'd been on his phone the whole walk, three decisions ahead, half here, half already in the next meeting, while Evan trailed behind him reminding him they had twenty minutes before the Axis Global board meeting. Raiyan wasn't listening. He never listened when he was working.

Then someone hit him with a full cup of coffee.

SPLAT.

The terminal kept moving around him, suitcases rolling past, a boarding call droning overhead like nobody had just committed murder by caramel macchiato.

Even Evan stopped walking. He looked at Raiyan, then cursed under his breath.

“Raiyan…” Evan started carefully.

Raiyan didn't answer. He was too busy looking down at himself, trousers, shoes, the ruined shirt, ice sliding down onto polished marble.

Evan looked from the coffee to Raiyan, closed his eyes for exactly one second, and offered the woman a silent prayer.

The woman who'd walked into him was still on her phone, telling someone "I'm not late, just strategically behind schedule," and hanging up like she hadn't just emptied a cup of coffee down a total stranger. Then she looked up, and stopped.

Raiyan's irritation flared, sharp and automatic, then caught on something else entirely when she finally looked up. Her gaze met his, calm, steady, entirely unbothered, like she'd already decided how this was going to go.

"Oh no," she said, a beat too late. "This is bad."

She stepped closer than she needed to, checking the stain, then him, then the stain again, as if she were genuinely weighing how guilty to feel before committing to a position on it.

"If you can't walk in a straight line," she said, "maybe stay home."

That was when he actually looked at her, sharp features, large hazel green eyes framed by thick lashes, calm enough to be dangerous, a midnight blue trench with her hair half out of its knot, sunglasses shoved carelessly on top of her head, and, impressively, a second coffee still balanced in her other hand.

"Fascinating," he said. "I'll take that into account." His gaze drifted to her eyes and stayed a second too long, involuntary, the kind of look he didn't usually let himself have. "You should stay home too. Until you figure out whether those eyes are for navigation, or just decoration."

"No," she said evenly. "My eyes are on vacation."

"Tell them not to extend it. I'd hate for someone else to suffer." There was a trace of dark amusement in his voice, and he hated that about himself.

She didn't flinch, if anything, she looked entertained. "Funny. I thought yours were on the same trip."

He exhaled once, recalibrating, and let his gaze follow hers down to the stain.

"Right—"

"And look," she said, cutting him off, gesturing at his ruined shirt, "your shirt just filed a claim on my morning coffee."

"Ah." His voice dropped without permission. Inexplicably annoying, this woman.

She looked down at the damage she'd caused, the humor in her voice dimming a notch. "Okay. This part's on me." She pulled a handkerchief from her bag and stepped in close enough that he caught it, warm vanilla, dark jasmine, rain, before he could stop himself from noticing.

Her hand landed lightly against his chest, right over his heartbeat. She probably hadn't felt it. He had. His fingers closed around her wrist before he understood why, and neither of them moved.

"I think," he said, his voice lower than he meant it, eyes dropping to her mouth for exactly as long as it took to remember himself, "you've done enough damage."

She didn't pull away, only tilted her head, her pulse steady under his thumb. "Are you always this dramatic, or did my coffee offend you personally?"

He'd expected embarrassment, maybe panic. Instead she looked at him like he was the interesting one in this exchange, until her eyes dropped to his hand and he realized, a beat late, that he was still holding her.

He let go slowly.

She said nothing, just lifted one eyebrow, almost nothing at all, and he couldn't remember the last time a stranger had made him feel that exposed without raising their voice.

"I'm trying to decide," he said, "whether this was an accident, or a cry for attention."

She blinked, then smiled, enigmatic. "You think I spilled coffee on you for attention?"

"You walked into me."

"Yes." She stepped forward. "With commitment."

His jaw tightened. She was watching him with those eyes, and that was the whole problem.

"You owe me a shirt."

"You owe me emotional damage."

"Send me the invoice," he said flatly, and neither of them stepped back.

Before she could say another word, he reached over and took a sip from her second cup, an uncalculated move, his hand acting before his logic could catch up, which never happened to him.

"Absolutely not," she said, already too late. She froze. "Did you…" Her jaw dropped, she widened her eyes. "Did you seriously just sip spill me?"

"I showed restraint." He raised a brow.

"You weaponized caffeine," she said. "That's a crime."

He looked at his shirt, then at hers. "If that's the law, you're already serving life. Prove it."

She lifted her chin, proud and entirely unbothered. "I'm a law student."

He didn't answer right away, just looked at her long enough that she almost filled the silence herself. "Of course you are," he said finally. Somehow, that made perfect sense. "That explains everything."

"Well, it does." She gestured at herself, presenting the evidence.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. She was already watching him with that expression, calm, waiting, like she had the next three moves ready and was giving him time to catch up. That was the problem. She kept landing them before he could, and he should have walked away. He didn't.

"I was going to call it confidence," he said, narrowing his gaze. "Now I'm not so sure."

"So," she said, glancing between their ruined clothes, "we're both unhinged."

His lips twitched. "That's an unexpectedly mutual conclusion."

"I'll buy you a coffee," she added, recovering her rhythm.

“Out of guilt?” Raiyan raised a brow, the corner of his mouth threatening to move despite himself.

"Compensation," she said with a tiny pout. "For the emotional distress your morning tantrum caused."

No one had spoken to him like that in his adult life, and his mouth curved despite himself, he couldn't remember the last time a stranger had pulled a smile out of him. That was considerably more alarming than the coffee.

"I thought it was for ruining my shirt."

She smiled, slow and satisfied. "Try not to assault anyone else with beverages today," and then she was gone, into the crowd. For one ridiculous second, he considered following her.

Behind him, Evan was still processing whatever had just happened.

"Raiyan?"

"...Interesting." Evan thought.

The scent of jasmine and rain still clung to his ruined shirt, which irritated him almost as much as the coffee had.

"Raiyan." Evan's voice snapped him back. "We're going to miss the board meeting."

He looked once more at the corridor she'd disappeared into, then walked away.

Axis Global, twentieth floor. Evan studied him for a long second. "Did you just sip her coffee? And then spill it back on her?" Silence. "For as long as I've known you, you're basically a germaphobe. You don't even drink from other people's glasses."

Raiyan's fingers paused for the briefest second. You weaponized caffeine. The memory arrived uninvited, and the corner of his mouth threatened to lift before he frowned it back down.

"What happened to my best friend?" Evan asked.

Raiyan pushed open the boardroom door. "Shut up and move on, Evan." His mouth curved anyway.

———————————

Present day.

"Sir."

Michael's voice cut clean through the memory.

Raiyan blinked once, and Heathrow disappeared, Geneva returned, the cold air, the silence, the weight of everything waiting for him.

His eyes dropped to his sleeve, an old reflex checking for a stain that hadn't existed in years.

His jaw tightened. He breathed in slowly, locked the memory away, and turned back.

"Nelson called," Michael said. "Mrs. Mansoor confirmed everything is ready at the manor. She'll be back by Tuesday."

"I'll pick her up myself." His voice was steady again. He looked back at Michael. "Make sure security stays with her. And increase security at the manor with Liyana."