Jaden's POV
Jaden had learned early that instinct mattered.
It was the thing that kept you alive in kitchens where tempers flared and knives moved faster than apologies. The thing that warned you when a deal sounded clean but smelled wrong underneath. The thing that told you when someone was lying without saying a word.
Instinct wasn't loud.
It was persistent.
And his had been restless all day.
Thalia's was full—properly full. Every table booked, the outdoor bar humming, the sound of cutlery and low laughter carried on the breeze rolling in from the ocean. It should have felt satisfying. This was what he'd built. What he'd fought for.
Instead, something sat heavy in his chest.
Lara hadn't replied to his last message.
That alone didn't mean anything. She wasn't someone who lived on her phone. She liked silence. Space. Intentional pauses.
But this wasn't that.
This was… off.
He stood near the edge of the terrace, arms crossed loosely, eyes scanning the crowd without really seeing it. The ocean stretched dark and endless beyond the lights, waves crashing with quiet insistence. Normally, it grounded him.
Tonight, it didn't.
He checked his phone again.
Nothing.
A presence shifted beside him.
"You're pacing," Conrad said calmly, handing him a glass without asking. "That's never a good sign."
Jaden took the drink automatically. "I'm standing."
"You're standing like you want to run through something," Conrad corrected.
Jaden huffed a breath. Conrad had been with him from the early days—before Thalia's was Thalia's. Before the reputation, before the regulars who thought reservations entitled them to control. Conrad knew him too well.
"Work?" Conrad asked.
Jaden hesitated.
"Or her?"
That earned Conrad a sideways look.
"That obvious?"
Conrad leaned against the railing, gaze drifting over the crowd. "You don't miss details. Except when you're distracted. And you've checked your phone six times in ten minutes."
Jaden didn't deny it. "Something's wrong."
"With Lara?"
"Yes."
Conrad straightened slightly. "You sure?"
"No," Jaden admitted. "But I trust patterns. And she's tightening."
Conrad didn't press. He knew better. Silence settled between them, not awkward—alert.
Jaden replayed the last few weeks like film reels in his head.
The beach. The way she laughed when she thought no one was watching. The way she went still—too still—when her phone buzzed. How she'd learned the rhythm of his space without trying to claim it.
She didn't reach for control.
People like that always had reasons.
His phone vibrated.
Lara: Can we talk later?
Relief hit first.
Concern followed close behind.
Jaden: Of course. I'm here.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
No follow-up.
Conrad watched his expression shift. "That bad?"
Jaden slid the phone into his pocket. "She wants to talk."
"That's not bad."
"No," Jaden agreed. "It's what comes before."
That night, after closing, he didn't walk home like he usually did. Didn't linger to double-check inventory or chat with the staff winding down.
He drove.
The city lights blurred past as instinct guided him without conscious direction. He didn't text. Didn't announce himself.
When he reached her building, he parked across the street and waited.
Not hiding.
Watching.
There was a difference.
He leaned against his car, arms crossed, eyes scanning the entrance with the same quiet vigilance he used when a storm was rolling in from the horizon. He wasn't there to interfere.
He was there to be ready.
She arrived twenty minutes later.
He noticed everything.
The way her shoulders were tight, posture straight but guarded. The efficiency of her steps. The way her eyes flicked instinctively to the street before focusing on the door.
That confirmed it.
She noticed him just before she reached the entrance.
Surprise crossed her face—then relief she didn't try to hide.
"You didn't have to—" she started.
"I know," he said gently. "I wanted to."
They stood under the streetlight, the hum of the city wrapping around them. Silence pressed in—not uncomfortable, but charged.
"Someone from your past?" he asked quietly.
She nodded once.
"Is he here?"
"No," she said. Then, after a beat, "Not yet."
That word lodged between them.
Jaden felt something sharp twist in his chest—not fear, but resolve.
"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.
"No," she said immediately. Too fast. Then softer, steadier, "Please don't."
He didn't ask for details. Didn't demand explanations.
He didn't need to.
"Come inside," she said.
Her apartment was calm, orderly—too controlled for someone who claimed she was fine. The air felt charged, like something unsaid had weight.
She paced once. Stopped. Pressed her fingers together.
"I don't want you to think—" she began.
"I won't," Jaden said evenly. "You don't have to justify your history to me."
She looked at him then. Really looked.
"That's dangerous," she whispered.
"Only if I misuse it," he replied.
They stood closer than necessary. The pull was undeniable.
Still, he didn't touch her.
That restraint cost him more than she would ever know.
"You don't scare me," she said quietly.
"I'm not the thing you should be afraid of," he answered.
Her breath hitched.
She didn't lean into him.
She chose him.
And Jaden knew—right then—that whatever shadows were following her, they weren't something he'd walk away from.
Not now.
Not ever.
Outside, the ocean kept moving.
Unbothered.
Unforgiving.
Unstoppable.
And Jaden Reyes, who had learned to respect instinct above all else, knew one thing with absolute certainty:
Whatever the past was trying to reclaim—
It would have to go through him first.