The city looked different the morning after Luca appeared.
Alexandra noticed it while watching traffic from the penthouse windows—how cars seemed closer together, how pedestrians lingered at corners too long, how reflections in glass felt crowded. It was irrational, she knew. The city hadn't changed.
She had.
Once someone from the past saw you, the world narrowed. Every street became a corridor. Every stranger a possibility.
Andre entered the living area quietly, dressed but not polished, coffee in hand. He stopped when he saw her still at the window.
"You didn't sleep," he said.
"Neither did you," she replied.
He didn't deny it.
They existed in silence for a few moments, the kind that pressed instead of soothed. Alexandra catalogued it automatically—this was how fractures began. Not with shouting. With restraint.
Andre broke first.
"I want full access," he said.
She turned slowly. "To what?"
"Your past," he answered. "Whatever version you're willing to give me."
Alexandra's jaw tightened. "That's not necessary."
"It is if it's intersecting with my present."
Her eyes sharpened. "I told you what mattered."
"You told me enough," he corrected. "That's not the same thing."
She crossed the room, movements controlled. "You hired me to keep you alive."
"And I am," he said. "Which means when someone threatens you to get to me, I deserve context."
Alexandra exhaled through her nose. "Context gets people killed."
Andre's voice lowered. "Secrets already almost have."
The words struck closer than she liked.
She turned away, pacing now, tension coiling tight beneath her skin. "Luca is playing a long game. He provokes. He destabilizes. He doesn't move until you break."
"And you think I'm the variable?" Andre asked.
"No," she said sharply. "You're the leverage."
The room went still.
Andre absorbed that slowly. "So I'm collateral."
"Yes," Alexandra said. Then, after a beat, quieter, "So am I."
That wasn't what he'd expected.
"You didn't come back for revenge," he said.
"No."
"You came back because he forced your hand."
"Yes."
Andre studied her—really studied her—for the first time without the filter of urgency. The lines of restraint in her posture. The way her gaze never fully rested.
"You're not running," he said. "But you're not chasing either."
"I'm containing," she replied.
"And if containment fails?"
Her silence was answer enough.
A sharp knock interrupted them.
Security.
"There's been a breach," one of the guards said. "Not here."
Alexandra stiffened. "Where?"
"Your café," the guard said. "We found it this morning. Door intact. Inside disturbed."
Something cold slid into her chest.
Andre noticed immediately. "Alexandra—"
"I need to see it."
They didn't argue. They moved.
The café smelled wrong.
Burnt—not coffee. Plastic. Metal.
The place was dark, chairs overturned, counter scorched. No bodies. No blood.
That was intentional.
Alexandra stepped inside slowly, every sense alive. This wasn't theft. Nothing was missing.
Except certainty.
"They didn't touch the register," Andre said quietly.
"No," Alexandra replied. "They wanted me here."
She moved behind the counter, fingers brushing the familiar wood. Her space. Her illusion of normal.
A message waited for her, etched into the countertop—not words. A symbol.
Andre saw her freeze.
"What is it?"
"A signature," she said.
"Luca's?"
"Yes."
Her throat tightened. "He's escalating."
Andre scanned the room. "This wasn't about damage."
"No," Alexandra said. "It was about displacement."
She stepped back, breathing slow, controlled. "He's reminding me I don't get to keep things."
Andre watched her carefully. "You're allowed to be angry."
"I am angry."
"No," he said gently. "You're contained."
That did it.
Alexandra turned sharply. "You think I don't know what I'm doing?"
"I think you're carrying this alone," Andre replied. "And that's dangerous."
Her laugh was sharp. "You think sharing makes it safer?"
"I think pretending you're expendable makes it easier for them."
The words cut.
Alexandra looked away, jaw tight.
Andre stepped closer. "You said you weren't meant to inherit."
She stilled.
"That doesn't sound like guilt," he continued. "It sounds like design."
Her voice came out low. "Careful."
"Someone decided you'd be the fall," Andre said. "Didn't they?"
Silence stretched, thick and raw.
"Yes," she said finally. "And I let them."
Andre frowned. "How?"
"I survived," she replied. "Everyone else paid for it."
That wasn't the truth—but it was the one she'd been living with.
They returned to the penthouse in silence.
That night, the fracture deepened.
Andre began asking questions she didn't want to answer—about names, timelines, alliances. Alexandra answered only what she had to.
Trust became conditional.
At 1:17 a.m., Alexandra caught movement on the perimeter feed.
Not an intruder.
A watcher.
Still. Patient. Unarmed.
She alerted security—but by the time they reached the street, the figure was gone.
Andre watched the playback with her.
"They're not hiding anymore," he said.
"No," Alexandra replied. "They're daring us."
Andre turned to her. "If this keeps escalating—"
"It will."
"—then I don't want to be protected," he finished. "I want to participate."
Her head snapped toward him. "Absolutely not."
"I won't be used," Andre said evenly.
"You already are."
"And so are you," he countered. "The difference is, I refuse to pretend that makes me powerless."
Alexandra stared at him, something conflicted burning behind her eyes.
"This gets people killed," she said.
Andre held her gaze. "So does isolation."
A long moment passed.
Finally, she nodded once.
"Fine," she said. "But understand this."
"What?"
"The moment you hesitate," she said, "I pull you out."
Andre's lips curved faintly. "And the moment you decide to carry this alone again—"
She raised a brow.
"I won't let you."
For the first time, Alexandra didn't immediately shut him down.
Outside, unseen, Luca watched city lights flicker.
The café was gone.The illusion was broken.
And Alexandra was exactly where he wanted her—
between what she protectedand what she refused to face.