Before You Knew Me

Chapter 4: The Life I Left, The Life I Found

_Daniel's POV_

* The Morning After*

The morning after Gabriel's funeral, I woke up before my alarm.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to a silence so loud it hurt. For years I trained myself not to think. In my line of work, dwelling gets you killed. You compartmentalize, you finish the job, you go home.

That morning there was nowhere left to put the grief. My brother was gone. Gabriel was gone.

I closed my eyes and saw my brother, not how he was at the end, but before. Laughing, stealing food off my plate, calling me an i***t.

We grew up in a house where children learn to listen for footsteps. A normal step, a drunk step, an angry step. We knew which one meant be quiet, disappear, run.

Our father taught us fear before we knew the word. Our mother taught us no one would come. She would stare at the floor and whisper, "Don't make your father angry."

So we ran. Two boys, a plastic bag of clothes, and each other. Foster homes came and went - some cold, some only wanted the check, some told us we should be grateful they took damaged kids like us.

So we stopped expecting people to stay. My brother stayed, until he couldn't.

Then Gabriel found us. Two angry, flinching boys. He didn't pity us. He put a hand on our shoulders and for the first time, we didn't flinch. He taught us that strength isn't how hard you hit, it's what you are willing to stand between.

For years, we were a strange, imperfect, but real family. And now both of them were gone.

That day I walked into the agency. Same glass doors, same coffee, same screens. Every corner was a memory. My brother by the coffee machine. Gabriel leaning against a desk, arms folded, watching me argue.

I left my resignation letter on the director's desk. My hands were shaking.

"You've spent your entire life protecting other people, Daniel," he said. "Maybe it's time you figure out what you want for yourself."

I walked out with a small box - photos, a watch, and that hideous mug my brother hated. I kept it anyway. I looked back once at the life that shaped me and the life that took them both. Then I didn't look back again.

*. I Built Myself First*

I didn't watch Elara obsessively. That's what people would think, but it isn't true.

I started Cross Security with almost nothing. No grand office, no army. Just a small rented office, some savings, and stubbornness. But it was mine.

I built it slowly, carefully. I hired people who understood security isn't about looking intimidating, it's about noticing, listening, thinking ahead.

One client became two, two became five, five became twenty. I wasn't running from the past anymore. I was building beyond it. Something my brother might have been proud of. Something Gabriel would have understood.

For almost two years, I honored Gabriel's last words - _Keep her safe_ - by making sure I was stable enough to actually do it.

Then we expanded. We opened a second office in another city. Legitimate business, real growth. And across the street, there it was.

_Bell & Gabe's._

I froze on the sidewalk. Something drew my attention. I knew without asking, there she was, biggest smile and laughing with her staff.

* Watching From A Distance*

Through my office window, I saw her. Not the broken girl from the funeral. Older, stronger, flour on her cheek, a colorful apron probably full of cake and batter and icing.

At first, it was duty. I created surveillance that seemed coincidental.

When she opened her second branch, Cross Security happened to have business in that city. When she opened her third, we had already expanded there. When the fourth opened, we were already established there. On paper, it was perfect. Market demand, client base. No pattern if anyone checked.

If I knew she was working at a branch, I stayed away from that branch. I didn't want her to see the same man everywhere. I only allowed myself to be seen at the main bakery near my first office, as just another customer who liked coffee.

I told myself I was looking for threats. Anyone lingering too long, anyone taking photos, anyone asking about her schedule.

But somewhere along the way, I stopped looking for threats. I started looking for her.

The way she pushed her hair behind her ear when concentrating. The way she laughed with her whole body. The way she looked exhausted but still asked her dishwasher if he was okay.

I saw who she really was. People expected a spoiled brat who splurged her inheritance. She wasn't. She carried trays, worked the till, fixed a wobbly table herself, crouched down to talk to a kid at eye level. She treated the cleaner the same as a CEO.

That's when I felt it, that sick twist in my gut. _I feel like a stalker._

There is a line between protecting and watching, between caring and obsessing. I didn't want to cross it. I respected her too much.

So I stepped back. For weeks I told my team, "No more reports on Bell & Gabe's unless there's a real incident." I took a different route to work. I forced myself to be Daniel again, not her shadow. It was the hardest month since I quit.

The Cakes For Everyone*

Then she came to us first.

A waiter from Bell & Gabe's walked into our reception with boxes stacked high, asking if he could go desk to desk.

I walked out. "Why are you doing this?"

He smiled. "From Ms. Bennett's bakery. On the house. She already asked the receptionist how many people work here."

Our main branch had 50 people. The other branches had 30, 40, and 20. It was a booming business, and she sent enough coffee and cakes for every single person in every single building. Not just the boss. Everyone.

I tried to pay. "No sir, it's on her."

Then he handed me a small, separate box. "This one's specific for the boss."

Inside, a slice of cake and a handwritten note. She didn't even know I was the boss yet.

_Thank you for keeping us safe - Elara_

She did it again next week. And again. Every time, a note for the boss. Thank you.

After the fifth time, I couldn't stay away.

*The Day I Actually Saw Her*

I walked across the street, looked through the window, she was at the counter. I entered the bakery and that was the day I actually saw her. Not through glass, not from far away.

She was beautiful, and just as kind as the rumors said.

I waited in the queue. In front of me was an old man counting his change, hands trembling. He was hungry.

He shuffled to the counter. Elara didn't even ask his order. She just smiled.

"For you, Mr. Wilson, it's on the house."

A coffee and a cute box with clear film - a sandwich, a muffin, fruit, cake.

He tried to pay. "Please, I insist." She reached into the tip jar, pulled out a 100 note, pressed it into his palm. "Have a blessed day."

The staff smiled. They didn't care she took from their tip jar. It was their tip jar.

Then it was my turn. I was speechless. I think that was the moment I fell for her.

"Good morning," she said.

I stood there, gobsmacked.

"Hello? Sir?" she waved, giggling.

"Oh, yes, sorry..."

"Rough morning?" she smiled.

"You have no idea." It wasn't rough at all. I was just an i***t who forgot how to speak.

She smiled. "What can I get for you today?" she spoke soft and sweet. "Coffee, black," I asked. She took a cup. "Your name?" she asked. I was confused. "My what?" There I went again, being an i***t. She held the cup with a pen. "Oh. It's..." Holy s**t, did I just forget my own name? She stared at me. "Daniel," she said my name and I was shocked. How did she know? "How did you..." She pointed at my name tag on my shirt. I felt like an i***t. This was the first impression I was making. "I'm such an i***t," I laughed.

"I think I'll make it a double espresso for you today," she smiled, wrote my name on the cup and handed it back. "And a cinnamon roll," she said, handing me a cinnamon roll already boxed. "It's full of goodness. It will take your mind away for a moment," she spoke as if it was a catchphrase or an advert. "Thank you," I smiled, paid and only realized when I got to the office she charged me for black coffee only, not a double espresso, not a cinnamon roll, black coffee.

From that day that was my go-to order, black coffee and cinnamon roll. She was right, after having that cinnamon roll it really did take my mind away, the taste, the deliciousness.

From then on, I started going once every two weeks. Then twice a week. Then every day. It became my favorite part of the day. And she remembered my order from the very first day.

I walked in one day after about 4 months of being in the routine: wake up, shower, get dressed, leave for work, stop at the bakery every morning, get my usual even when she wasn't behind the counter or on the back I still went on regular. After the long day I'd hit the gym to work off that cinnamon roll before I turned into a cinnamon roll, I'd watch her lock up and hand out leftovers on her way to the shelter.

"Good morning, Daniel," she spoke with a smile but today she sounded funny, her nose sounded blocked.

"You sound different, are you okay?" I asked. She smiled. "Allergies."

"The usual please," I asked her. She tilted her head. "You get the same thing every day. Black coffee and a cinnamon roll. Want to try something new? I baked this batch myself this morning. Made with love. Would love to get some feedback."

A brownie. Her favorite recipe. I didn't know until she told me.

"Black coffee and a brownie today?"

She smiled and I nodded.

So many times I caught myself admiring her from a distance, whether it was in the shop while I sat having my coffee or through the cameras and windows.

I watched her let a waitress go home when she was sick. I was lip-reading through the window, something I had to learn at the agency, I was good at it: "Go, I'll still pay you for today." Then she took her whole shift like it was nothing.

When she was sick herself, she still came in, blanket around her shoulders, laptop in the corner, working. When she wasn't in front, customers asked, and staff said, "She's in the back baking and decorating cakes."

I heard a new chef whisper, "I just started and it's so weird seeing the boss working in the back like a normal person."

They were all family to her.

And after every shift, she packed all the leftovers into meal boxes and drove them herself to shelters, handing them to people on the streets.

She was just that woman. The woman I wanted to know.