Rhodes simply nodded. He didn’t thank her.

Customers came and went. Conversations echoed through the room. Noise. Movement. Nothing that demanded attention. Brandon remained a few steps behind, attentive, silent as always.

Until it moved.

A minimal, almost imperceptible shift. Brandon turned his head first.

Rhodes felt it before he saw it.

The world has shrunk.

Behind the counter, amidst cups and steam, there she was.

Bea.

Rhodes noticed the change before he located it.

Something in the rhythm of the environment was off. A slight deviation in the flow of noise and movement. He followed its origin with his eyes.

Bea was behind the counter.

Her body betrayed her weariness. Loose apron, hair carelessly tied back, shadows under her eyes. Nothing that would draw attention from anyone else. For him, it was too much information.

His face adjusted in less than a second. A brief, automatic stiffening. Control regained.

She looked up.

Immediate recognition. There was no surprise. Just confirmation of something that had always been there, suspended between them.

“Good morning. What would you like?”

Her voice came out neutral. Professional. He registered the effort.

“Black coffee. No sugar.”

The tone deviated from the normal. Less rigid. Unintentional.

She turned to prepare the order. Rhodes watched her every movement with calculated attention. Her hands trembled. Slightly, but enough. Exhaustion. Something off-kilter.

When Bea returned and held out the cup, he touched her fingers.

It wasn’t an accident.

The contact was brief, almost nonexistent. Still, her pulse quickened. Her gaze shifted instantly. Rhodes absorbed the response without altering his expression.

“Thanks.”

The word came out differently. Less control. He realized it too late.

She nodded silently. There was a warning there. But also something more. Familiarity. Undue security.

Two employees behind her exchanged a quick glance. Rhodes ignored them. They weren’t relevant.

He took a sip of his coffee without taking his eyes off her.

“You look different outside of that place.”

The phrase came out quietly, too direct for a casual comment. He knew it. He didn’t correct it.

“You too.”

She responded quickly. Defensive. The space between them was too short now. His presence occupied more space than it should.

Rhodes placed some notes on the counter. Lined up. Precise. A habit. A disguised apology.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She didn’t answer immediately. Something was stirring beneath the surface. He recognized the silence.

Before she could move even an inch, someone called her.

“Bea, I need you for a moment.”

The sound broke the moment with surgical precision. The atmosphere returned to exist around them.

“I’ll be right back,” she murmured, without looking directly at him.

Rhodes did not move.

He observed.

When she looked at him again, he was still there. He had neither moved forward nor retreated.

“You seem less distant here,” he said finally.

It was true. And dangerous.

“Different environments.”

The response was neutral, with a clear edge. A limit imposed.

He nodded slowly. Tactical acceptance, not agreement.

“I know.” a pause. “Still…”

Another cough behind her. Time’s up.

Rhodes placed the empty cup on the counter with excessive care. A gesture that didn’t suit him.

“Take care, Bea.”

Saying her name was the only concession one would allow.

He turned and walked away before she could answer.

Not because he didn’t want to listen – but because he knew that listening would be a mistake.

Rhodes went to the counter by the window and sat down next to Emily while she ended the call.

“We need to talk.”

She observed him for a moment before answering.

“And how are things at work?”

“The board felt the pressure,” he said, loosening his tie. “They’re reacting.”

“When will they decide who the next president will be?”

“A week before the Group’s anniversary,” he smiled slightly. “They’ll announce it at the party.”

Emily did the math quickly.

“How much time does that give you?”

“Five and a half months,” he exhaled slowly. “That’s the time I have to become a married man and complete the remaining checklist.”

“Do you think that’s enough?”

“No,” the answer came immediately. “That’s why I’m not going to expect spontaneous support.”

Emily let out a short, humorless laugh.

“They will never support you. You are the bastard heir.”

Rhodes wasn’t bothered. He already knew.

“I don’t need their support, Em,” he nudged her phone, which was propped up between them. “I need something in return.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Secrets. Debts. Adultery. Irregular contracts,” he listed without emotion. “I’ll buy every vote with the dirt they pretend not to have.”

Emily watched him in silence for longer than was comfortable.

“You’ve always been like this.”

“No,” he corrected. “I learned to be this way.”

His gaze briefly drifted to the interior of the cafeteria. Instinct. Check. Bea was no longer visible from there.

“What if it explodes?”

Rhodes looked at her again.

“If it explodes… I’ll just need to control the damage.”

Because he had already decided to protect everything that truly mattered.

The car glided through the night, its headlights cutting through the damp asphalt like continuous blades. Rhodes maintained impeccable posture in the back seat, his back straight, his hands resting precisely on his knees. Still, something was off – his jaw clenched, the visible tension in the muscle throbbing near his temple. This meeting was a waste of time. A political gesture. A favor to the family that insisted on molding him into a role he would never accept. He was there only for appearances. Every minute ripped from his schedule felt like a personal insult.

The discreet ringing of the cell phone broke the car’s controlled silence.

Brandon answered immediately. He spoke little. He listened mostly. When he hung up, he didn’t turn around right away – a minimal delay, almost imperceptible, but enough for Rhodes to realize that something had changed.

“Sir... it’s about Bea,” he said finally.

Rhodes didn’t react. He didn’t ask. He simply shifted his gaze to the window, watching the city lights stretch out in continuous streaks, distorted by the speed.

“Her father is alive,” Brandon continued, measuring each word. “And he left her with a debt. Three hundred thousand.”

The silence in the car deepened.

“Enough to put her in the crosshairs of dangerous people,” Brandon added. “A guy named Nico. He’s been after her before.”

The air seemed thin. Rhodes pressed his fingers to his lips, a restrained, almost automatic gesture. The information was falling into place too quickly. Old variables rearranging themselves. The father. No, that man didn’t deserve that title. He was just a problem that refused to disappear.

“Three hundred thousand…” he repeated, his voice low, without a trace of surprise. “He handed her over to loan sharks for a pathetic sum.”

The hatred came clean, organized. Not an impulse – a decision.

Rhodes leaned slightly forward, his eyes darkened by the car’s shadow.

“I’m going to end this meeting as soon as possible,” he said. “After this, nobody touches her. I want security guards watching her and her brother. Continuous shifts. If anyone gets too close, I want to know beforehand.”

“Yes sir.”

“When we get to the restaurant, take a taxi home. I want the car tonight…”

It wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t just a protective instinct. It was certainty. Bea wasn’t a collateral detail in his life – she was the silent center around which everything began to revolve. If the world decided to touch her, he would trample the entire world first.

The car sped up. The blind date had dwindled to a minor inconvenience, an irritating delay on the way to something much bigger.

.

.

“Miss… Lyra, right?”

She nodded, trying to hide the pride that was rising too quickly. She was sitting across from one of the most desirable men in the city. She knew what that meant. She knew she wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for her father’s last name.

Regret came when he slid his cell phone across the table.

“You frequent Spectra quite regularly,” he said, without emotion. “And you seem to be close to the owner.”

The video spoke for itself.

“Does your father know about your addiction?” she continued. “Or that you prostitute yourself to pay off debts you can’t afford?”

She turned pale. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Women like you disgust me,” she concluded, her voice low and precise. “Go away. And keep quiet. If anyone asks, tell them I’m not your type.”

The silence that followed was heavy. She swallowed hard.

“I… think it’s best if we end this meeting.”

“I agree.”

She left in a hurry. A few curious glances turned towards the table. Rhodes didn’t mind. The wine remained untouched.

Whiskey would have been better.

Rhodes left the restaurant without looking back.

In the car, he loosened his shirt buttons, ripped off his jacket, and threw it onto the passenger seat. The gesture wasn’t carelessness—it was preparation. There was no more room for social posturing.

If Brandon was right, and he was rarely wrong, Bea was already involved in something she hadn’t chosen.

He turned the key in the ignition and drove to the scribbled address.

The city changed little by little. The elegant facades gave way to neglected buildings, narrow alleys, and burnt-out lampposts. The smell of abandonment was almost physical. Children ran between parked cars. Men leaning against street corners watched him with predatory attention.

Rhodes didn’t back down. He’d been in worse places. Still, his instincts didn’t fail him. This wasn’t neutral territory.

The convenience store appeared faded, huddled between a dilapidated butcher shop and a makeshift repair shop. The sign flickered as if it were about to die. Two figures argued outside, but moved away when they noticed the car.

Rhodes turned off the engine.

There, he had nothing he usually used as a shield. No weapons. No security. No name that commanded immediate respect. Just his presence.

He pushed the door open.

The metallic sound of iron scraping against the door frame echoed too loudly.

The stained counter made him stop.

Dried blood. Mixed with still-damp spots.

The mind, trained on facts and probabilities, faltered for a second. The body reacted first. The stomach churned. Breathing became shallow.

If it’s hers…

He closed his eyes tightly, as if he could crush the thought before it took shape. Useless.

The image came across all too clearly: Bea wounded, alone, trying to resist.

“Bea…” the name escaped, hoarse, almost a mistake.

Silence answered.

He moved forward slowly, analyzing the environment as he would a risk assessment report. Torn packaging. Scattered coins. Broken glass. Quick violence. Disorganized.

But there was no body.

And that absence weighed more than any bloodstain.

Rhodes clenched his jaw – whoever had laid hands on her was already damned.

Where are you, girl?