Chapter 81

The coffee in my mouth turned to acid. Sebastian’s message glowed on the screen, a tiny, malevolent eye watching me from the digital void. I know where you are.Julian was watching my face, his kind eyes clouded with concern. “Ethan? You’ve gone pale. What is it?”“Nothing,” I said, the word automatic, hollow. I forced my fingers to move, swiping the notification away, locking the screen. I couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Not here, in this safe, bookish café that had felt like a sanctuary two minutes ago. “Just… spam. Sorry.”He didn’t look convinced, but he was too polite to push. “If you’re sure. We can finish another time. The preliminary work is mostly done.”“No, it’s fine. Really.” I tried to smile, but my face felt like a plaster mask. “This was helpful. Thank you.”We parted ways outside the café. Julian gave my arm a brief, reassuring squeeze. “Call me. Anytime. For work, or… just to talk.”I nodded, unable to speak. I watched him walk away, his satchel swinging, a figure o

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Chapter 82

The four hours crawled by. I went back to the sterile studio, but I couldn’t sit still. I paced. I changed my clothes three times—too casual, too formal, too much like I was trying. I settled on simple black trousers and a grey sweater. Armor. Neutral ground.My mind raced through scenarios. He would be angry. He would be cold. He would plead. He would demand. I prepared rebuttals, defenses, pleas of my own. But all my preparations felt flimsy, like paper shields against artillery.Sebastian’s dark car haunted the edges of my thoughts. Was he out there now? Watching the studio? Would he follow me to the café? The thought of him witnessing whatever happened between Lorenzo and me felt like the deepest violation.At 6:30, I left. I walked the long way, checking reflections in shop windows, feeling every gaze on my back. The city, which had felt empty and anonymous, now felt like a stage, an audience of unseen eyes.Café Fleuri was bustling, bright with warm light and the clatter of dish

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Chapter 83

Slow, as it turned out, was a special kind of torture. The morning after the café, I woke up in the Lausanne studio, the silence feeling different. Not empty, but… waiting. The bond was a low, steady hum again, a presence rather than an absence. It was tentative, fragile, like the first green shoot after a forest fire, but it was there.We texted. Short, practical messages at first.Made it back to Geneva. The apartment is very quiet. -LGlad you’re safe. The studio is… small. -EMatteo is handling the business. Putting new clients on hold. -LJulian sent over the first batch of questionnaires. It’s interesting work. -EA pause after that one. Then: Good. I’m glad. Simple. No anger. A victory, however small.A day passed. Then two. The texts grew slightly longer. We shared articles we’d read. He sent a photo of the lake at sunset from our balcony. I sent a picture of the strange modern sculpture in the Lausanne square. We were two people relearning the geography of each other’s lives,

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جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 83

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83