Desmond
"Why are you standing there like that?"
Zara's voice cut through the room before I even shut the door.
I didn't answer immediately. I dropped my keys on the table instead. Let them clatter. Let the sound sit.
She hated silence.
"I'm asking you something," she said. "Don't do that thing where you pretend you didn't hear me."
"I heard you," I said. "I'm thinking."
She scoffed. "You're always thinking."
"Because you're always rushing."
She turned, arms folded tight across her chest. "Don't start. You said you had a plan."
"I do."
"Then say it."
I stepped closer, slow, casual. Not cornering her. Never corner Zara. That's when she bites.
"You love him," I said.
She laughed once. Sharp. "Oh wow. Really? That's where we're starting?"
"Answer me."
Her jaw tightened. "You know I love him."
"Say it."
She hesitated. Just a second.
"I love Raymond," she said. "Is that what you want? You happy now?"
"Good," I said. "Because if you didn't, this wouldn't work."
She stared at me. "You keep saying that. 'This will work.' 'Trust me.' You haven't told me how."
"You don't need the whole map," I said. "Just the next turn."
"That's convenient," she snapped. "You always do that. You hold things back and expect me to jump."
"I expect you to think."
"Oh, I'm thinking," she said. "I'm thinking about how you suddenly care so much about my love life."
I shrugged. "I care about results."
She stepped closer now. Too close. Finger tapping against my chest.
"And Cynthia?" she asked. "Where does she fit into your brilliant little plan?"
"She doesn't," I said.
Zara's laugh this time was ugly. "Don't insult me. Everything about this has her name on it."
"She's in the way," I said. "That's all."
"That's not all to me," Zara shot back. "She took him."
"No," I said. "She distracted him."
"Same thing."
"Not to Raymond."
She looked away. Fast. Like the name hit too close.
"He was different with me," she said quietly. "You know that."
"I know."
"So why am I the one bending?" she snapped, spinning back to me. "Why do I have to play nice while she just—exists?"
"You're not playing nice," I said. "You're reminding him."
"Of what?"
"Of you."
She shook her head. "You make it sound so simple."
"It is."
"No, it's not," she said. "You don't understand him the way you think you do."
I smiled. "I grew up with him."
"That doesn't mean—"
"It means I know his pauses," I said. "I know when he's pretending not to care. I know when he's lying to himself."
Zara watched my face, searching. "And you know how to break that?"
"I know how to nudge it."
She went quiet again. Dangerous quiet.
"And what do I do?" she asked. "Smile? Touch his arm? Pretend I'm not furious?"
"You don't pretend," I said. "You be exactly who you are."
She frowned. "That's terrible advice."
"It's honest advice."
"I'm jealous," she said flatly. "I'm angry. I want her gone."
"Good," I said. "Use that."
"How?"
"You don't confront," I said. "You don't accuse. You don't mention her name."
"That's going to be hard."
"I know."
She exhaled sharply. "You're enjoying this."
"A little," I admitted.
She rolled her eyes. "Of course you are."
I moved past her, reached for the counter. Didn't look at what I was doing. Let her think it was nothing.
"You sit," I said. "Let's talk like adults."
She didn't sit.
"Desmond."
"Zara."
"Stop talking like you're in control."
I finally looked at her. "If I wasn't, you wouldn't be here."
That landed.
She dropped onto the couch with a huff. "Fine. Talk."
"When Raymond walks in," I said, "you don't rush him."
"I wouldn't."
"You don't ask questions."
She smirked. "I always ask questions."
"Not this time."
"And if he asks me something?"
"You answer honestly," I said. "But briefly."
"That's new."
"Trust me."
She tilted her head. "There it is again."
"You want him unsettled," I said. "You want him wondering what changed."
"And then?"
"Then you stop."
She blinked. "Stop?"
"Yes."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
She stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "That's your plan? I say less and do nothing?"
"You let him do something."
She stood abruptly. "No. No, that's stupid."
"It's effective."
"He's not some idiot man who panics over silence."
"No," I said. "He's worse. He overthinks."
She paced. "You're gambling."
"So is he."
She stopped in front of me. "And if he doesn't come back?"
"He will."
"You're sure?"
I leaned in just enough. "He already is."
Her breath caught. Just slightly.
"You saw him," she said.
"I always see him."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you need."
She turned away again. Ran a hand through her hair.
"I hate her," she muttered.
"I know."
"I hate that she gets to touch him."
"I know."
"I hate that he looks calm with her."
"That part?" I said. "That's the lie."
She looked back. "You're not just saying this?"
"No."
Silence stretched.
If this blows up—"
"I'll handle it," I replied.
"You always say that."
"And I always do."
She studied me, eyes narrowing. "You're scary when you're like this."
I smirked. "That's why you listen."
"Don't flatter yourself," she muttered, crossing her arms.
A soft sound came from the hallway. Elevator. Zara froze.
"Is that him?" she whispered, biting her lip.
"Probably," I said.
She straightened immediately. Shoulders back, chin up, fire in her gaze. "Remember," I said quietly, "No Cynthia. No pressure. Let him feel the gap."
She swallowed. "And you?"
"I'll be right here," I said. Watching.
Her fingers drummed on the counter, restless. "If you're wrong—"
"I won't be."
I turned slightly, stepping toward the staircase. Quiet now, careful, keeping my movements slow. Halfway down, I froze.
Raymond.
He was on the stairs, pausing, hand brushing the railing, eyes sharp. He noticed me, a flicker of caution crossing his face. Didn't know I'd been upstairs. Didn't know about Zara. Didn't know what was coming.
"Hey," I said softly to the bodyguard leaning near the corner. "Check the feed in a sec, yeah?"
The guard nodded, hand hovering over the tablet.
Raymond's gaze flicked toward the upper floor, where Zara waited. I stayed half-hidden, letting him see me. Letting doubt creep in.
He climbed the last step slowly, tension in his shoulders. I let the pause stretch, making him wonder—why was I here? What was I doing?
From upstairs, Zara's voice barely carried, "He's late."
I kept quiet, but smirked under my breath. "Patience, patience," I muttered, more to myself than anyone.
Raymond's eyes scanned the staircase, then toward the hallway. His jaw tightened, suspicion growing but not yet clear.
I leaned slightly against the railing, whispering under my breath, "Soon… soon, Raymond. You'll see."
Footsteps echoed faintly from the elevator. I didn't move. Didn't speak. Let the moment stretch.
And just like that, the game started.