Victor did not look like a man who enjoyed explanations.
He stood in Arden's living room like the space didn't quite belong to him—feet planted firmly, arms folded across his chest, eyes constantly moving. He scanned corners, windows, even the ceiling once, as though danger might drip down unexpectedly.
Ife noticed everything.
She sat on the arm of the couch with deliberate ease, legs crossed, chin resting on her knuckles. If Victor was trying to intimidate her with his presence, it wasn't working.
"So," she said at last, breaking the silence, "you're the famous Victor."
Victor turned his head slightly. "I am."
She waited.
He didn't add anything.
"That's it?" she pressed. "No mysterious introduction? No warning that my life will never be the same?"
"I'm not paid to be dramatic."
Arden cleared his throat, hiding a smile. He'd forgotten how sharp Ife could be when she chose to be.
Victor shifted his attention to Arden. "We don't have much time."
"You say that every time," Arden replied.
"Because it keeps being true."
Victor's gaze flicked back to Ife. "Your presence complicates matters."
Ife straightened. "You keep saying that like I'm an inconvenience instead of a human being."
Victor hesitated—just slightly—before answering. "In my line of work, emotional attachments are vulnerabilities."
Arden's jaw tightened. "She's not a vulnerability."
Victor studied him. "That's exactly why she is."
---
They sat down then—Victor reluctantly, Ife deliberately closer to Arden than before.
"The men following you," Victor began, "aren't freelancers. They're disciplined. Trained. Patient."
Ife frowned. "You sound impressed."
"I respect competence," Victor replied.
Arden leaned forward. "Who are they?"
Victor's expression hardened. "Someone you thought was gone."
Arden froze. "That's not possible."
Victor met his gaze. "Your father's former business partner. The one who disappeared after the collapse."
"He died," Arden said flatly. "We buried him."
"No," Victor replied. "You buried a body."
The words landed heavily.
Ife felt a chill crawl up her spine. "So… fake death?"
"Very real grudge," Victor said.
Arden leaned back slowly, the past unraveling in his mind. Boardrooms. Shouted arguments. The tension that had followed his family ever since.
"He believes your father ruined him," Victor continued. "Stole his assets. Destroyed his reputation."
"And now he wants revenge," Ife said quietly.
Victor nodded. "And leverage."
The room fell silent.
Ife's eyes drifted to Arden. She didn't miss the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers curled into his palms.
"So that's me," she said softly. "Leverage."
"No," Arden said immediately. "You're not—"
"You don't get to soften it," she interrupted gently. "I need the truth."
Victor watched her closely. "You are a risk."
She laughed, short and humorless. "Funny. I was thinking the same about you."
Victor sighed, rubbing his temple. "You're brave."
"Or foolish."
"Usually both," Arden muttered.
---
When Victor finally stood to leave, the tension followed him to the door.
"I'll increase surveillance," he said to Arden. "Change routines. No patterns."
His eyes flicked to Ife. "That includes you."
She crossed her arms. "I won't disappear."
"I'm not asking you to," Victor replied. "I'm asking you to be alert."
She nodded slowly. "That, I can do."
Victor paused, then added, "I don't trust easily."
She met his gaze. "Neither do I."
A beat passed.
"But," Victor said, "you don't frighten easily either."
She smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
---
When the door closed behind Victor, the apartment felt suddenly smaller.
Arden exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Ife asked.
"For dragging you into this mess."
She studied him for a long moment. "You didn't drag me. You tried to protect me. That's different."
"It doesn't feel different."
She stood and stepped closer. "Feelings don't always tell the truth."
---
Later that afternoon, Ife decided she'd had enough of walls and whispered threats.
"You're coming with me," she announced.
"Where?" Arden asked warily.
"The market."
He blinked. "That's a terrible idea."
"You need grounding," she said. "And groceries."
He followed her reluctantly.
The market was loud and chaotic and alive. Voices overlapped. Vendors shouted prices. Someone argued over onions. A goat stared at Arden like it knew something.
He leaned toward Ife. "That goat is judging me."
"Yes," she said seriously. "You deserve it."
He laughed—really laughed—for the first time all day.
They argued over tomatoes. She mocked his accent. He failed miserably at bargaining. For a while, danger faded into background noise.
Until Arden felt it.
A presence.
He stiffened subtly, stepping closer to Ife.
She noticed instantly. "What is it?"
"Nothing," he lied.
But across the street, a man stood still, watching.
---
Back at the apartment, Arden paced.
"They're not backing off," he said.
Ife sat calmly on the couch. "Neither am I."
He stopped. "You don't have to be strong all the time."
She looked up. "Neither do you."
The words settled between them, heavy and honest.
Finally, Arden spoke. "If things get worse… you may have to leave."
She didn't hesitate. "No."
"Ife—"
"I won't be scared into disappearing," she said firmly. "And I won't let you push me away because you think love is a liability."
He swallowed. "It's not weakness."
"It's exposure," she finished.
She stepped closer. "Then let me see you."
That night, when Arden slept, he dreamed of running—and stopping.
For the first time, he didn't wake up alone.