Before You Were Mine

Chapter 3: Morning Light

The café hummed before the rest of the building fully settled into its rhythm. Soft music drifted beneath the low swell of conversation, barely noticeable under the sharper sounds of espresso machines releasing bursts of steam. The scent of roasted coffee and warm milk hung in the air, grounding and familiar, while sunlight filtered through the tall windows to catch on glass and polished floors. It gave the space a quiet glow that felt almost too calm for the clinical glass tower looming above.

Alexis Monroe waited at the counter, her mind already navigating the logistics of the next hour. She would carry two coffees: one made the way she liked it, the other prepared exactly the way her boss demanded. In Diante Rourke’s world, there was no room for variation. No foam, no extra space, and no deviation from the standard. She reached up to adjust the sleeve of her blouse, smoothing the fabric with an automatic, practiced motion. Her locs were pulled back into a low, clean style that left her face open and emphasized the subtle glint of her silver hoops. Even here, in the brief pause before the day fully began, her composure never slipped.

“Alexis.”

She turned at the sound of her name, already identifying the speaker by the bright, restless energy that preceded her. Michelle slid into place at the counter, sunglasses pushed into her hair and energy radiating off her like she'd already lived through an entire day before most people finished their first cup. She glanced toward the counter with a hungry interest.

“Please tell me you ordered something extra.”

Alexis met her gaze with a faint, knowing look. “You don’t even know what I ordered.”

“I don’t need to,” Michelle countered with a grin. “If it’s yours, it’s bound to be better than whatever I was about to get.”

Alexis exhaled softly, amusement touching her expression.

“That sounds like a personal issue.”

“It was an issue last night too,” Michelle said grinning, leaning in closer to share a secret.

“You went out.”

“Don’t say it like that. This one was different.”

“You always say that.”

“Okay, but this time I mean it.”

Alexis folded her arms lightly, settling in for the narrative. Michelle lowered her voice, her tone turning conspiratorial.

“Tall. Calm. The kind of man who knows exactly what he’s doing without having to say it. Like… dangerously calm. You know that type?”

“And?”

“And he asked questions.”

“That’s usually how conversations work.”

“No, not like that. Like real questions. The kinds that make you think before you answer.”

Alexis paused, one eyebrow lifting in a silent assessment.

“And you didn’t like that.”

Michelle considered it for a moment, and then shrugged.

“I didn’t like that, I didn’t have control of it. But we’re not doing depth this morning. The important part is that he looked expensive and slightly dangerous.”

“That sounds exactly like your type.”

“It is my type.”

The barista called Alexis’s name, breaking the moment. She stepped forward to collect both cups, the warmth settling into her hands. Michelle watched her with interest, asking about the atmosphere upstairs and whether her boss was still locked in one of his moods. Alexis handed her a napkin from the counter, noting evenly that he was always in a mood, and today promised to be worse than most.

Her phone vibrated against her palm. The screen lit up with a message from Diante Rourke, and her focus sharpened instantly as she read the brief, blunt instruction: Office. Now. The schedule changed. There was no greeting and no context, only the demand for her presence.

“That doesn’t look like a good morning text.”

“It’s not,” Alexis replied, already moving toward the exit.

“What happened?”

“Something moved up. Which means everything else just shifted with it.”

Michelle let out a low breath, understanding the implication without needing a confirmation of the meeting. Alexis adjusted her grip on the cups, her mind already recalculating timelines and deciding what could be cut to accommodate the new reality. This was where she was strongest: not in reacting to the chaos, but in adjusting to it with a cool, surgical precision.

“I’ll catch up with you later.”

“You better. I want details.”

“You’re not getting them.”

“I always get them.”

Alexis didn’t answer. She stepped out of the café and into the main lobby, where the atmosphere shifted immediately. The energy was sharper here, characterized by lowered voices and intentional movements as people fell into their designated positions. She moved through the crowd without hesitation, her heels steady against the floor and her pace controlled.

By the time she reached the elevators, she was already three steps ahead of whatever was waiting upstairs. Inside the mirrored walls of the car, her reflection showed nothing out of place, no hesitation and no disruption in her mask of control. Yet, as the doors slid shut and the elevator began to rise, something unsettled moved beneath her surface. It wasn't uncertainty, but a quiet sense of recognition. Something about the shift in the day felt different. Not wrong, just off.

She exhaled slowly, steadying her pulse before the feeling could take shape. Whatever had changed, she would handle it. She always did. The doors opened, and the calm from downstairs did not follow her out.