His gaze swept over her face, then shifted, lingering for a fraction of a second on Nathan. The coldness in his eyes deepened into something unreadable and dangerous.
Then, as quickly as it had happened, it was over.
He said something low to the man beside him—Leo Miller, his ever-present assistant—and turned, disappearing into the private room. It was so swift, so dismissive, Kyra almost believed she had imagined it.
She forced a breath into her constricted lungs, her back damp with cold sweat. She turned her attention back to the man across from her.
Nathan was looking at her with concern. "Are you alright? You look pale."
Kyra looked at his gentle, academic face. Suddenly, she decided to end this charade in the most direct way possible. She had no time for games.
"Professor Foster," she said, her voice calm, almost clinical. "Before we waste any more of your time, there are some things you should know about me."
She met his gaze without flinching.
"I was released from a mental health facility this morning. I was there for three years. I have a record for second-degree assault. I am blacklisted in Hollywood, I have no job, and I am considered a disgrace by my ex-husband's family."
She laid out the ugly facts one by one, watching his face, waiting for the inevitable shock, disgust, or fear.
Nathan was indeed shocked. His fingers tightened around his water glass. He said nothing.
A cold, bitter smile touched Kyra's lips. There it is. She prepared to stand up and leave.
"Thank you for telling me that, Ms. Curtis," he said finally, his voice still gentle. The words stopped her cold. "That must not have been easy."
Kyra paused, her body tensed to flee.
He offered a small, sad smile. "My younger sister... she was hospitalized for severe depression a few years ago. I know what it's like. I know how cruel the labels people put on you can be."
Kyra's carefully constructed wall of indifference developed a tiny crack.
"I read some of the news about you, from three years ago," he continued, not pushing for details. "I always felt there was more to the story than what they printed."
It was the first time in three years a stranger had offered her the benefit of the doubt.
She slowly settled back into her chair. The tight knot in her shoulders loosened just a fraction.
The rest of the conversation was surprisingly easy. They talked about architecture, old films, the specific quality of California light. Nathan was knowledgeable and funny, and Kyra found herself actually talking, not just performing.
He confessed his parents had pushed him into this date, that he was perfectly happy with his single life.
Kyra admitted she was in the same boat. They shared a look of mutual understanding, and the awkwardness evaporated. They agreed to be friends, a convenient excuse for their families.
Meanwhile, in the private room, Julius stared blankly at a spreadsheet as a business partner droned on. His focus was entirely on the main dining hall, on the table where Kyra was now smiling. A real smile.
His assistant, Leo Miller, leaned in and murmured, "Sir, the man is Nathan Foster. Professor of architecture at Stanford. Clean record, good family, well-regarded."
Julius pushed his glasses up with one knuckle, his blue eyes like chips of ice. Well-regarded? He watched Nathan laugh at something Kyra said, and his jaw tightened. He told himself it was the defiance of a possession, nothing more.
After dinner, Nathan insisted on driving her home.
While they waited for the valet to bring his car, Kyra felt it again-that unnerving sensation of being watched. She scanned the entrance, but saw nothing.
Nathan's car arrived, a modest Volvo. He opened the door for her, a simple, gentlemanly gesture that felt foreign and startling. The car smelled clean, like paper and ink, a world away from the cold, aggressive scent of expensive cologne that clung to Julius.
As the Volvo pulled away from the curb, a black Bentley Mulsanne slid silently from the shadows of the parking garage, keeping a careful distance.
In the back seat, Julius watched the taillights of the Volvo ahead.
Leo glanced at his boss's dark expression in the rearview mirror. "Sir? Should we... intervene?"
Julius didn't answer. He pulled out his phone and opened an app.
A single red dot pulsed on a map of the city. The label next to it read "Kyra."The chip embedded in the plain gold band she still wore had been his last unspoken claim, a safeguard he had never removed from their divorce settlement.
He watched the red dot move in tandem with the car in front of them, following its path across the city until it stopped at her parents' address.
His thumb pressed down on the screen, hard, as if he could crush the little red dot, and her, with it.
This little thing, how dare she cheat on him with someone else behind his back?
