Ribbons of fate

Chapter 16: The Chase Begins

Gael Aiden Andrez’s POV (Aiden Clarke)

The realization didn’t arrive gently.

It struck—violent and absolute.

I couldn’t let her disappear.

Tracy Rsman wasn’t just a reckless mistake or a nameless girl who wandered into the wrong room. She had carved herself into my mind with frightening precision. The way she looked at me—defiant even when vulnerable. The way her presence had shifted the air, rearranged my discipline, unsettled something ancient and feral inside me.

I had taken something from her.

And whether I liked it or not, that made her mine in ways I hadn’t decided how to untangle yet.

“Sancho,” I said sharply.

He appeared instantly, as he always did—efficient, silent, loyal.

“Cancel everything,” I ordered. “Every meeting. Every call. Get the jet ready for Los Angeles.

Sancho hesitated. Just barely.

“But Boss—”

“Now.”

The jet was prepared within the hour.

As the engines roared to life, I stared out the window, jaw clenched. Tracy had vanished under my protection. That alone was unacceptable. Worse—she had done it cleanly. No trail. No panic. No goodbye.

That meant intelligence. Instinct. Fire.

I liked that far more than I should have.

Mid-flight, Sancho pulled up fresh data on the screen between us. “She’s settled in Los Angeles. Beach property. Private. Minimal staff. And…” he paused, glancing at me, “…she’s looking for a chauffeur.”

I smiled. Slowly. Dangerously.

Fate, it seemed, was cooperating.

“I can’t approach her as myself,” I said. “Not as Gael Aiden Andrez. That man would terrify her—or remind her of things she isn’t ready to face.”

Sancho nodded. “You want an alias.”

“I want a life,” I corrected. “A believable one. Someone harmless. Someone she wouldn’t think twice about trusting.”

Sancho’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Name?”

“Aiden Clarke.”

The name settled into me with eerie ease.

“Background?” he asked.

“Struggling,” I replied without hesitation. “Talented, but overlooked. An artist. Painter. Someone observant. Quiet. A man who listens.”

Sancho arched a brow. “You?”

“Not me,” I said calmly. “A version of me she can meet without fear.”

By the time we landed, Aiden Clarke existed—documents, history, debts, a modest apartment, and just enough instability to appear real. I had stripped myself of power, wealth, and recognition with surgical precision.

All for one girl.

As we drove through Los Angeles, the city glowed—sun-drenched, deceptive, alive. Somewhere within it, Tracy was rebuilding herself. Laughing. Healing. Forgetting me.

That would not last.

I wasn’t here to chase her in the open.

I wasn’t here to force her hand.

No.

I would let her find me.

At a café.

In traffic.

In the quiet space between her independence and her loneliness.

And when she looked at me—really looked—I would be ready.

The hunt had begun.

Not with force.

But with patience.

And patience, I had mastered long ago.