The card burned a hole in Lilith's pocket.
Even after Arnold walked out of the café, his scent lingered faintly—clean, expensive, like cedar and frost. She kept replaying the moment he slid the black card across the table, his gaze unreadable, his touch deliberate. It unsettled her more than Victor's threat.
Because with Victor, she knew exactly where she stood. With Arnold… she couldn't tell what game he was playing.
Back at her apartment, she lay the card on the counter like evidence at a crime scene. Athena sat across from her, her eyes darting between Lilith and the glossy rectangle.
"Are you going to call him?" she asked.
Lilith didn't respond right away. "He came to the café. Just showed up like it was nothing."
Athena frowned. "Did you tell him where you work?"
"No. I never gave him anything. Not even my last name." Lilith's voice dropped. "But he found me anyway."
They both stared at the card in silence.
"You think he traced you online?" Athena asked carefully.
Lilith shook her head, but not with certainty. "Maybe. Maybe the same way Victor did. I thought I covered my tracks, but… maybe not well enough."
Athena folded her arms. "It's not a coincidence that both men found you within the same week."
"That's what scares me," Lilith whispered.
She wanted to believe Arnold wasn't a threat. He hadn't made a move, hadn't pried—at least not overtly. But the way he'd looked at her across the café table… calm, patient, focused. Like a man watching a stock chart about to move.
"Do you think he wants something?" Athena asked.
"I know he does," Lilith replied. "I just don't know what."
The next day, Lilith kept her phone nearby as she opened the café. She hadn't called him. She wasn't sure she could. But the number burned in her memory like it had been etched into her skin.
By mid-afternoon, her nerves were stretched thin. Every time the bell over the door chimed, her chest tightened. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to walk in again—or never show up at all.
She was wiping down a table when her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Her breath caught. She stared at it, heartbeat climbing. Then, cautiously, she answered.
"Hello?"
"Lilith."
His voice.
She turned toward the kitchen, seeking privacy. "Arnold."
"You didn't call," he said simply.
"I wasn't sure I should."
A pause.
"I'd like to see you again," he said. "This time, somewhere neutral. Dinner."
Lilith hesitated. Her instincts flared—part warning, part curiosity. "Why?"
There was the faintest smile in his voice. "Because you interest me."
She almost laughed. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I'm giving."
Silence hung for a beat too long. Then she said, "Fine. One dinner."
"I'll send a car," he said.
She was about to protest—insist she could manage—but the call had already ended.
That evening, Lilith stared at her closet with a mix of dread and nerves. Athena leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.
"You're going," she said flatly.
Lilith rolled her eyes. "I didn't say I wasn't."
Athena stepped forward and picked out a black dress—simple, elegant, nothing flashy. "You don't need to impress him. Just don't look like you're ready to bolt."
Lilith sighed. "I don't like this."
"But you're doing it."
She was.
When the car pulled up, Lilith climbed in and immediately felt out of place. Everything inside was sleek and cold—much like its owner. When she arrived at the restaurant, Arnold was already seated. Alone. Waiting.
He stood when she entered, his eyes trailing over her like he was assessing risk, not admiring beauty.
"You came," he said.
"I'm as surprised as you are," she replied, sliding into the seat opposite him.
The restaurant was dimly lit, full of low murmurs and crystal clinks. It wasn't romantic—it was strategic. Private. The kind of place where CEOs close billion-dollar deals without raising their voices.
"I didn't come here to talk about Victor," Lilith said preemptively.
Arnold inclined his head. "Then we won't."
He didn't ask her about her past. Instead, they talked about her café, books, and bland topics that somehow still felt like negotiations. Yet beneath it all, Lilith could feel it—the subtle pull, the curiosity simmering in his gaze.
But Arnold never slipped. He never flirted. He didn't charm.
He calculated.
By the end of the dinner, Lilith's nerves were raw. She had laughed, smiled, played the part. But none of it moved him. Not visibly. He was polite, engaged—but distant.
As they walked out, he turned to her at the curb.
"Thank you for coming."
"You're not what I expected," she said honestly.
"And you're exactly what I expected."
She frowned.
Arnold reached into his coat and pulled out a small envelope. "There's something I want to talk to you about. A business matter."
She didn't take it right away. "Why me?"
"Read it. Then we'll talk."
He stepped back into the car and left her standing in the glow of the restaurant lights, envelope in hand.
Lilith didn't open it right away.
But when she finally did, the contents made her blood run cold—and not because of what was written inside.
It was because it confirmed what she already suspected:
Arnold Blaze wanted something from her.
And this was only the beginning.