Chapter Two: He Was Never Just a File
1106 Words
Celine’s POV
The next morning, I couldn’t focus.
Every screen felt too bright. Every hallway too loud. Every breath too shallow. His voice was still in my head — You work late, Navarro — like a splinter lodged in my brain.
He knew my name. Not just what I did, not just my file — me. My habits. My patterns.
That wasn’t a warning.
It was a message.
I wasn’t chasing him anymore.
We were circling.
At noon, a black flag went up on the alert system. Silent. Internal.
Unscheduled power fluctuation. Underground museum vault, District 7.
The same vault Ares hit two months ago.
Romero was already moving by the time I grabbed my coat. He barked orders, sent out drones, rerouted units.
“Stay out of it, Navarro,” he warned without looking at me. “We’re handling this.”
“Bullshit,” I said, already walking past him. “You can’t handle him. You never have.”
He didn’t stop me. He knew I was right.
By the time I got to the site, the power was back. No real breach. No missing items.
But there was something left behind.
A single earpiece.
Mine.
The one he hacked last night.
It was sitting on the glass of the central exhibit. Clean. Untouched. Waiting.
And on the back, written in thick red ink:
“Try again.”
My jaw clenched.
“Bastard’s taunting me,” I muttered.
But that wasn’t the part that rattled me.
What got under my skin was the timing.
The vault was cleared. No trace of him.
But my earpiece?
Still warm.
He had been there.
Minutes ahead of me. Maybe seconds.
Close enough to hear my footsteps.
Close enough to watch me.
Close enough to touch.
Later that night
I rewound the museum footage seventeen times. No visible entry. No breach in protocol. No alarms triggered. No trace of him leaving behind my earpiece.
Not even a flicker of movement.
But I knew he’d been there. Not just because of the message, or the timing.
I felt it.
Like the air still remembered him.
I didn’t go home. Sleep wouldn’t come, and I knew it. Instead, I slipped into an off-grid agency terminal and started scanning chatter from the underground.
Black-market collectors. Private auctions. Invitations only.
That’s where Ares hunted. Not for profit — for power. For exposure. He liked to be seen. Not by everyone. Just by the right person.
And lately... that person was me.
An anonymous source dropped a name.
The Monterro Gala.
Tomorrow night. Invitation-only charity event for the ultra rich. Jewelry, art, secrets. No official record of what was actually being displayed. But rumor had it something new was being unveiled.
Something worth stealing.
I stared at the listing. Ares would be there. I could feel it in my spine.
No security cameras inside. No weapons allowed. Just masks, gowns, and secrets.
A perfect setup for a man like him.
And if I wanted to get close, I’d have to play the part.
The next night
Monterro Tower, 9:26 p.m.
I walked into the gala in a backless black dress with a slit up the thigh and a blade tucked under the strap of my heel. Mask secured. Hair pinned high. Confidence locked in.
The room smelled like old money and new lies.
Glittering chandeliers. Champagne glasses. Fake smiles. Everyone in costume. Everyone hiding something.
But I wasn’t looking for a name.
I was looking for a feeling.
And when I turned toward the balcony — I felt it.
A shift.
A prickle along my spine.
Someone was watching me.
I knew before I saw him.
Leaning against the marble railing. Black mask. Loose tie. No effort at all. Just a slow sip of wine and a smile that didn’t belong to anyone else.
Ares Montecillo.
He wasn’t in a vault. He wasn’t on the run.
He was here. In plain sight.
And the worst part?
He looked straight at me.
And smiled like he’d been waiting.
His gaze didn’t drop to my dress. Not once.
He looked me straight in the eyes like he already knew who I was — even with the mask.
Which scared me more than anything.
I walked toward him slowly. No drink in hand. No backup in sight. Just me and the sound of my own heartbeat, slamming against my ribs.
When I stopped in front of him, I didn’t speak. Neither did he.
The silence wasn’t awkward. It was electric.
Then, finally, his mouth curved.
“Black suits you, Agent Navarro.”
The air left my lungs before I could stop it.
I didn’t respond. Not right away. I let the moment stretch, like I was deciding whether to punch him or lean in closer.
Instead, I smiled. Just a little. Enough to match his tone.
“And masks suit you, Montecillo,” I said. “Shame you couldn’t hide the attitude.”
He chuckled under his breath, head tilted slightly.
“I could say the same about your eyes. You could walk into any room pretending to be someone else, and those eyes would still give you away.”
He was too close.
But I didn’t step back.
“Are you here to steal something?” I asked, low.
“I already did,” he said simply.
My eyes narrowed. “What?”
He smiled wider. “Your attention.”
Bastard.
Smug. Calm. Stupidly attractive.
And completely in control.
I hated that I wanted to follow him.
He stepped closer, then offered his hand.
“Dance?”
“You serious?”
“No weapons. No cuffs. Just you and me,” he said. “I promise not to vanish.”
I didn’t believe him.
But I took his hand anyway.
His palm was warm. Confident. Dangerous. Like the rest of him.
We moved slowly across the floor, blending in with the other guests, swaying under crystal chandeliers and soft strings. It was ridiculous. Intimate. A fantasy that felt too close to real.
His hand found my waist.
“You’re trembling,” he said quietly.
“No, I’m calculating,” I shot back.
He smiled like that only made it better.
“I could let you catch me,” he murmured.
I looked up. “Why would you?”
“Because part of me wants to see what you’d do next.”
My grip tightened. “You wouldn’t like it.”
“Oh, I think I would.” The music swelled. Our bodies shifted.
And in that moment, I didn’t know if I wanted to arrest him…
or kiss him so hard he’d forget how to run.
- Writer
