Page 40 of His Orders

By the time I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, the lie is already becoming easier to believe. Warm water scalds theache from my limbs, but not the tension wound tight beneath my skin. I dress in a loose sweater and dark jeans, pull my hair into a low knot, and force myself to face the day.

First, groceries. Then the pharmacy. Then the coffee shop two blocks over with the bitter espresso I hate but the seats near the window I love. I tuck myself in with my laptop, half-answering work emails, half-listening to the low murmur of conversation around me.

It helps a little, the noise, the motion, the normalcy.

But there’s a sour sensation I can’t name. The back of my neck prickles every time the door opens. I glance up at every tall man in a dark coat. I pretend not to notice that my hands keep drifting to my belly, flat but no longer empty. A shield I carry with me even when no one else can see it.

At eleven thirty, I close my laptop and make my way to the restaurant Drew mentioned. It’s a quiet little spot tucked beside a row of florists and stationery shops. The kind of place that smells like lemongrass and basil the moment you open the door. He’s already there, waving me over with one hand while holding Blair’s in the other.

“You’re late,” he teases as I slide into the booth across from them.

“I’m pregnant. I’m legally allowed to be late to everything.”

Blair laughs. “She’s not wrong.”

We order quickly—pad Thai, red curry, extra rice. The conversation moves easily, looping through family gossip and city traffic and Blair’s new obsession with sour candies. Drew asks a few careful questions about the rental, about how I’mmanaging, but he doesn’t push. He’s trying. I can tell. Trying to be present without hovering. Trying to keep things light.

But beneath the surface, I know he’s watching me, noticing the slight tightness in my smile, the way my shoulders don’t fully relax. He always was too perceptive for his own good.

“Everything okay?” he asks when Blair’s gone to the bathroom and there’s no one else near enough to hear.

I meet his eyes, force the curve of my mouth just enough. “It’s fine.”

He studies me. I can see it—the part of him that wants to dig, the part that’s wondering if he should go full big brother and press until I crack. But he doesn’t. “Okay,” he says finally, voice calm. “But if it stops being fine?—”

“I know.”

He nods, and something softens in his expression. “Good.”

Lunch ends before I’m ready. That same uneasy sensation curls around my spine. The sidewalk feels too quiet. The shadows stretch a little longer. I glance over my shoulder and see nothing, but my feet still move faster. My hand curls tightly around the strap of my bag.

There’s no one behind me.

No footsteps out of sync with mine.

And yet, I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching. Waiting.

The coffee I’d planned to grab becomes a forgotten intention. The street has gone too still.

It takes me a second to understand why I’ve stopped breathing. One moment, I’m walking beside Drew and Blair, their voices easy, laughing over something I barely registered. The next, my feet halt without warning, as if caught by a current I can’t see.

Across the street, just beyond the parked row of cars, is Daniel.

Leaning against a glossy black vehicle that doesn’t belong to this part of town, he looks exactly as I remember—immaculate in an open-collared shirt and tailored coat, his posture casual, his expression anything but. He isn’t pretending to look elsewhere. He isn’t hiding. He’s watching me, only me, like this has been the plan all along.

My blood ices over. There’s no mistaking the slow curve of his mouth, that familiar smirk he always wore when he knew he’d won something. The kind that never reached his eyes.

I must blink. I must do something, because the next sound I hear is Drew calling my name, the syllables distant and sharp-edged like they’re cutting through water. I manage a nod. I even force a small laugh, pretending I was distracted by a storefront. But my legs are trembling and I’m already calculating how fast I can get back to the Airbnb.

Daniel doesn’t move. He just stands there, one hand resting lightly on the roof of the car, as if he has all the time in the world. As if he’s been waiting for me to notice him.

And God, I do. I notice every detail. The calm in his face. The precision in his stance. The certainty that he’s still in control.

I don’t remember saying goodbye to Drew or Blair. I don’t remember walking away. Only that my breath is short by the time I round the corner and that the noise of the city no longer makes me feel invisible.

Somehow, I make it home without collapsing. I don’t remember unlocking the door. I just know that it closes behind me too hard and that my fingers tremble as I press each lock into place. One. Two. Three. Then again, just to be sure.

The silence inside is worse than whatever noise the street had offered. It hangs heavily in the room, filled with the echo of what I didn’t say out loud. That he saw me. That he let me see him. That everything I’ve done to keep ahead of him wasn’t enough.

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