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I’m certain he heard me.

I wasn’t speaking loudly, but he was still in the room when I called his name, so it would have been impossible for him not to hear me.

Nestor hurries through the door and turns down the passage, out of sight. Why would he ignore me?

I must be mistaken.

Maybe I was softer than I thought.

Stretching my body out, I wiggle my toes under the blanket and smile, turning to bury my face against his pillow.

Things between Nestor and me have been amazing lately.

He’s sweet and caring and incredibly special to me.

More than special.

An intense craving for coffee drives me to climb out of bed, despite being so warm and comfortable. If I had my way, I’d snuggle up to Nestor all day and forget about the rest of the world until tomorrow.

But he probably wants to check in on his mom.

I hope she’s doing okay. It was heartbreaking to watch her yesterday.

Her pain was so raw, so scrutinized by those disgusting reporters.

I have no idea why they allowed them in there.

I bet Miron had a lot to do with that. It was his father’s funeral, and Nestor mentioned that he was the one who made the arrangements.

So that means he was the one who invited the media inside such a delicate and intimate affair.

And, of course, all evening he was loud-mouthing answers to their questions, being horribly blunt in his accusations towards Nestor.

It makes me furious to think about it.

That man is evil. You can see it in his eyes. He’s miserable, and he wants the world to be miserable with him.

Entitled, too.

He has no right to Nestor’s position. And why in the world does he, for even a moment, think he could possibly be a better man than Nestor?

It makes me snort in mocking laughter when I picture Miron in charge. He’d crumble, his ego broken, throwing tantrums like a child when things didn’t go his way.

I slip Nestor’s oversized robe onto my shoulders to ward off the unusually cold bite in the air.

It can’t be autumn already. I was just starting to get used to the summer.

Lifting the soft material to my face, I take a long breath in, smiling because it’s like a hug from him, being surrounded by his scent.

I pad barefoot into the kitchen, finding Nestor making coffee, shirtless and looking sexy as hell in his gray sweatpants. I slip my arms around him, laying my cheek against his back.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” I say.

He clears his throat, his body a bit stiff. “Morning. Did you sleep okay?” he asks. His voice is rough, though, off.

“I slept better than I’ve slept in ages. Aren’t you cold?” I ask, brushing my hands up and down his torso.

He steps to the left, out of my grasp. “Sorry,” he mutters, reaching for something.

I move away and lift myself onto the counter, sitting with my legs hanging over the edge. “How did you sleep?”

He looks worried.

“Mm. It was good,” he answers, short and clipped.

I want to ask him if he’s okay, but I think it’s a stupid question. Of course, he’s not okay. All of the drama and tension with Miron, and the pain that his mother is going through—he must be worried.

I want to ease his burden somehow, but this is a difficult situation to fix.

I bite my lip, not saying anything.

Nestor lifts his coffee mug and turns away from the machine, walking towards the door. He pauses, then turns back and kisses me lightly on the cheek. “I’ll be in my office,” he says, then disappears.

It feels like rejection.

And it leaves a hollow pit in my chest.

Sighing, I tell myself not to take it personally because he needs space to deal with his own loss and the changes happening. I can’t make it all about me; that’s selfish.

With my own coffee hot and steaming in the mug in my hand, I decide to go and read for a while in the library. To give Nestor his space.

As I’m walking past his office, I hear voices, and recognize Roan talking to him.

“Miron’s schedule got busier than usual,” Roan says.

“I imagine it would after his father’s death.”

“You’re right, it could be that. But the places he’s going don’t add up.”

“How so?”

“Here’s what the guy managed to photograph from his notepad on his desk. He scribbled down a couple of places he wanted to go tomorrow, and my guy thought it might be important.”

“Tomorrow we have the operation scheduled with Benedikt.”

“I’m aware,” Roan says. “Do you want to leave the Miron thing until that’s over?”

Nestor sighs loudly.

“Yes, let’s leave it. We can pick it up again on Wednesday.”

“Yes, sir.” Roan’s footsteps come towards the door, and I run quietly away, ducking into the library.

I want to see the photograph.

I want to see where he’s going.

What if it’s a pattern? My head is still fixated on that puzzle, and I won’t be able to let go until I solve it. And I really, really want to do something good for Nestor. I want to show him how much I care by fixing something for him.

That afternoon, I make a stop at the mall, purchasing a baseball cap and a cheap disposable hoodie. I want to be incognito. It has to be something I can toss in a moment’s notice but wear to hide my face.

The giant pair of glasses at the checkout counter is also perfect, so I add them to my purchase.

Tomorrow, while Nestor is busy with whatever business he has with Benedikt, I am going to see what Miron is up to.

I’ll wait till Nestor is asleep tonight before I sneak into his office to snap a photograph of that photograph.

Miron knows very little about me.

I doubt he would recognize me if I walked past him wearing giant glasses and a cap.

Not that I plan to walk past him. I don’t have any intention of getting that close.

***

It’s unfortunately easy to avoid Nestor, because he already appears to be avoiding me. It hurts, but I’m trying so hard to remind myself that it’s because he’s going through a difficult time and not because of something I’ve done.

Nestor retreats to his bedroom early, and instead of going through and asking him if I can stay with him tonight, I retreat to my own room, respectful of his needs, but also wanting to sneak into his office without him noticing.

It’s past eleven when I am comfortable enough to make the move.

It only takes a few minutes. The printed image Roan gave him of Miron’s notes is on his desk, next to his laptop. I take a quick photo of it and rush back to my room, closing the door behind me to study it in the quiet darkness of my bed.

I zoom in on his messy handwriting, scrawled in blue ink across a lined page.

A delivery company at 9 am

A coffee house. 11 am

Dropping off a document. 12:15 pm

Picking up dry cleaning. 1:30 pm

The longer I study the list, the more my suspicion grows about the types of places he is going. And the times are so specific.

“What are you up to, Miron?” I whisper quietly, studying the phone, trying to see past the words.

Everything on that list is so normal. Too normal. Every day, run-of-the-mill errands. Why would Miron be doing such bland things when he has people taking care of his every need?

My interest is piqued, and I can’t let it go now.

Nestor is only leaving the house around nine tomorrow morning, so I won’t make the one at the delivery company, but I can get to the coffee house before Miron and tail him from there to the next place.

Maybe he’s meeting people, trying to cover up the meeting to make them look like something else.

Why would he want to hide a meeting? It can’t be for any good reason.

I struggle to fall asleep, my mind looping and the anxiety in my stomaching knotting tighter the more I watch the time.

I’ve never done anything like this before, so I’m really nervous.

But it’s okay.

All I have to do is stay out of sight. How hard can it be?

I pretend to sleep late to avoid Nestor because I don’t want to have to lie to him if he happens to ask me what I’m doing today.

So I wait in my room until he’s gone, my stomach aching from nerves.

I watch out of the window until his car is out of sight before I head down and climb into my car—well, the one that Nestor gave me to drive, because apparently my car was a death trap and wheels and had to be sent straight to the scrap yard.

It’s a black Audi, a beautiful car, and I might learn to appreciate cars more simply because I get to drive it.

It doesn’t take me long to get to the place Miron listed. I’m early, but that was my plan. It seems better to already be established and hidden by the time he arrives.

I sit in the car, ducked low for thirty minutes before I spot him walking towards the building with two men following close behind him like security guards.

Shit. I didn’t think this part through. Do I follow him in? How else will I know who he’s meeting?

I pull my cap down low and climb out of the car, walking casually into the coffee shop and hovering near the wall while I suss out where he’s going to sit. He goes to the back of the shop and through a door with a sign that says employees only.

Dammit.

But it does become quickly obvious that no one is really paying any attention to me, and in a bold, terrifying move, I walk straight to that door, push it open and slip through.

I hear Miron’s voice not too far away, coming from a room to the side. Move closer, but a man steps out.

“Hey, girl, what are you doing here? You don’t work here,” he shouts. I freeze in horror, but then snap out of it and turn to run before Miron sees me.

I run straight back out of the door and through the coffee shop, into the parking lot.

Instead of going straight to the car, because if they see me, they’ll associate it with me and trace the details of the car to Nestor, I run to the left, down the road—and I just keep going until I have a chance to duck into an alleyway, out of sight.

Pressed against a wall, crouching low to the ground in the back of the alley, I wait with my eyes glued to the entrance facing the road.

One of the security guards runs past the alleyway, not turning in.

My head is spinning. My heart is beating so fast it’s hurting.

But relief washes over me when he keeps going.

I stand up, ready to rip off the disguise and walk calmly back to the car as though I know nothing of what just happened, but as I do, a dizzy spell slams into me and I have to lean on the wall to avoid falling on my face. Nausea tightens my stomach.

“It’s just stress, take a breath,” I whisper to myself, closing my eyes and trying desperately to pull myself together.

But it’s not working, and the dizziness won’t subside.

I can’t drive home like this. It’s too risky. I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. I didn’t even run that far.

With no other choice, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Ulyana.

“Hi,” I say sheepishly when she answers.

“Hey, you, what are you up to?”

“I need your help, actually. Are you free?” My words are strained.

“Of course, I’ll drop anything for you. What do you need? Why do you sound so weird?”

“If I send you my location, will you please come fetch me?”

“Girl, what’s going on?”

“Just come fetch me,” I say tightly, my head spinning.

“I’m on my way right now,” she replies, sounding worried.

My hands are shaking as I slide my phone back into my pocket and close my eyes as I lean against the wall. What is wrong with me? This is so strange.

Ulyana reaches me in twenty minutes, and she arrives with two bodyguards.

“You brought backup?” I smile weakly.

“I was really worried. What are you doing out here?” she says angrily.

“I got really dizzy and I panicked, but my car is just down the road. I don’t think it’s safe for me to drive, though.”

“Get in, we’ll drive there and one of the guards can drive it back for you.”

I’m so grateful for her help, and on the way home, the dizziness fades and my heartbeat slows. It must have been from panic. I don’t know what I was thinking, going into the back of that coffee shop alone.

Ulyana stops outside the entrance and narrows her eyes at me. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“No, don’t be silly, I’m really fine now.”

“Shut up and get out,” she laughs.

We’re on the top step when Ulyana pulls me into a hug. “I’m so glad you called me. Don’t hesitate to call again if you need me, okay?”

“You needed help?” Nestor’s voice is low and full of concern. It makes me jump and spin towards him.

“It’s okay. She called me,” Ulyana smiles.

“But why didn’t you call me, Lara?” Nestor sounds upset.

“Oh-kay. I think that’s my cue. I’ll see you later, guys,” Ulyana says quickly, and practically runs back to her car.

“What happened?” Nestor demands.

I bite my lower lip and take a deep breath. “Can we talk inside?”

***

Nestor is furious. I mean, scary angry.

“What the hell were you thinking, following Miron? Do you have any idea what that man is capable of?” he shouts, the tendons in his neck taut and his eyes narrowed towards me with singular focus.

I’m sitting on the edge of the sofa, listening to his lecture, shaking my head.

“I was trying to help,” I say defensively.

“By getting yourself killed? How would that have helped anything?”

I’m watching him pace up and down, his fists clenched, his shoulders squared. I don’t recognize him.

And all I can think about is how he’s been avoiding me lately, and now I’ve made it worse by making him so angry that he looks like he hates me.