Chapter 4

The next morning, I found myself waiting in the same café, this time with a different kind of anticipation. My journal lay open beside my coffee, filled with carefully curated notes about Clint's habits, preferences, and schedule. I'd spent hours organizing this information, transforming three years of painful observation into a marketable asset.

When Mia finally arrived, fifteen minutes late, her expression was a fascinating mix of determination and discomfort.

"I've been thinking about your... proposal," she said, sliding into the seat across from me.

"And?" I kept my voice neutral, taking a measured sip of my latte.

"I'll pay…