Chapter 2 - The Face in the Shadows
Rowena whipped around, her fingers clutching the edge of the marble console table so tightly her knuckles turned white. "How... how do you know my name?" she stammered, her voice rising in panic. "The woman on the phone said this was completely anonymous. Neither of us was supposed to know—"
The man in the armchair didn't answer right away. Slowly, with an agonizing, fluid grace, he poured two fingers of dark amber liquid from a crystal decanter into a heavy tumbler. The ice clinked softly against the glass.
Then, he stood up.
Rowena’s breath caught in her throat. The man was massive. Broad-shouldered, towering well over six feet, he wore a tailor-made charcoal suit that fit his frame like a suit of armor. The jacket was unbuttoned, revealing a crisp black dress shirt open at the throat. He stepped out of the shadows and into the warm glow of the floor lamp.
Rowena felt the air leave her lungs completely.
He was striking—devastatingly, dangerously handsome. Sharp, angular jawline covered in a dark stubble, high cheekbones, and dark hair brushed back with casual precision. But it was his eyes that paralyzed her. They were a piercing, glacial gray—like frozen steel—and they locked onto hers with a terrifying, absolute familiarity.
"Anonymity is for desperate men who sell their bodies to strangers for a paycheck," the man said softly, taking a slow sip of his drink as he closed the distance between them. His movements were predatory, smooth, and unhurried. "I don't sell myself, Rowena. And I certainly don't take orders from a boutique agency."
Rowena shrank back against the wall, her mind spinning wildly. "Who are you? Did Dylan send you? Is this some sick game—"
"Dylan Mercer is currently sitting in a holding cell at the 14th Precinct," the man interrupted calmly, stopping just three feet away from her. The scent of sandalwood, crisp rain, and expensive tobacco rolled off him in waves. "His consulting firm is undergoing a sudden, devastating audit by federal investigators. By morning, he won't have enough money left to pay for his parking spots, let alone hire a man like me."
Rowena’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. "What... what did you do?"
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The man set his glass down on the console table beside her bag. He reached out, his long, calloused fingers hovering inches from her face before gently tucking a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear. His touch was warm, sending a strange, electric shiver through her skin.
"My name is Julian Vance," he murmured, his thumb lightly brushing her jawline. "And for the last five years, Rowena... I have been watching you."
