Lilith didn't sleep.
Not after the message. Not after seeing Arnold's face again.
He had left as abruptly as he came, but his words lingered. "I don't like not knowing. And I don't like how much I want to."
He hadn't promised trust. Hadn't given her reassurance. But he also hadn't walked away. Not completely.
That night, after locking the café and double-checking every window, Lilith found herself pacing her apartment. Her hands shook. Her mind raced. She couldn't run anymore—not from Victor, not from Arnold, and definitely not from the truth.
And so she made the call.
—
Arnold didn't answer at first. But when he did, his voice was unreadable.
"I need to see you," she said, breathless.
A pause. Then: "Come up."
—
His penthouse was all glass and restraint. Like him. Polished, expensive, and ice-cold at first glance.
But when she stepped inside, something shifted in the air.
He didn't move to greet her. Just stood by the window, watching the city as if it were a chessboard.
"I lied," Lilith said softly. "But not to hurt you. I lied because I was scared."
He turned to her, jaw tight.
"Go on."
She swallowed hard. "Before I opened the café. Before the nonprofit. I worked with people who… ruined powerful men. I was young. Smart. Good with people. They used that. Sent me to charm, to get close. Gather intel. Leak weaknesses. Harold Sterling was one of them. I didn't know what they were planning at first, but once I did…"
"You stayed," Arnold said.
"I tried to leave. Eventually, I did. But it was on their terms. I wasn't allowed to go to the police. I wasn't allowed to tell anyone. Just disappear. Change my name. Start over. They let me go because I stopped being useful, but the rule was clear. Say nothing. To anyone. Or die"
Arnold's face gave nothing away.
Lilith's voice wavered. "I took a risk just telling you this now. If they knew, I'm dead"
"That's why Victor is after you," Arnold said. "Because you were part of what broke his father."
She nodded slowly. "But I don't know how he found out about me."
She hesitated…
"I didn't want to be part of that world. I never did. And I've spent every day since trying to be someone better. I didn't tell you before because… I thought you'd walk away."
Arnold stepped closer, but his gaze was clinical now, sharp with calculation.
"And you expect me to trust you now? After telling me you've made a career out of deception?"
"No," she said. "But I trust you. I barely know you, Arnold, but somehow… I trust you more than anyone else. That probably sounds insane."
His silence was answer enough.
He studied her for a long moment. Then turned back toward the window.
"You've given me a lot to reconsider."
She looked down, her chest tightening. "Does that mean the proposal's off?"
"It means," Arnold said carefully, "I'll decide when I've seen the full picture."
Lilith nodded, pain flickering behind her eyes. But she didn't cry. Didn't plead.
She just walked to the door, paused, and said quietly, "Thank you for listening."
And then she was gone.
—
Across the city, Isabella Brooks studied the newest file in her hands.
Victor Sterling. Lilith Lane. Witness protection theories. Former aliases. Harold's name buried in donor records.
Everything pointed to one conclusion: Lilith wasn't just some sweet café owner Arnold had stumbled upon.
She was a threat.
And threats had to be handled.