Ribbons of fate

Chapter 18: The Encounter

Gael Aiden Andrez’s POV (Aiden Clarke)

For seven days, I didn’t exist to her.

And for seven days, she existed only to me.

Tracy Rsman lived on a loop—predictable, delicate, disarmingly human. Classes. Errands. Silence. And always, without fail, the Starbucks on the corner like a ritual she didn’t question. Same time. Same seat. Same drink. A vanilla-laced indulgence she pretended was casual but ordered with devotion.

I learned her without touching her.

The way she scanned a room before settling.

The way she reread lines when exhaustion softened her focus.

The way her fingers lingered on the rim of the cup, as if grounding herself.

Today, I stepped out of the shadows.

She sat alone, folded into her magazine, guard lowered just enough to invite fate. I approached slowly, deliberately—no rush, no hunger showing. Aiden Clarke walked lightly. Gael Aiden Andrez stayed buried.

“Tracy,” I said gently.

Her head snapped up.

Shock first. Then caution. Then something quieter—recognition without memory. She half-stood, eyes sharp, pulse visible at her throat.

“How do you know my name?”

Perfect.

I smiled—soft, disarming, ordinary. The kind of smile men wear when they mean no harm.

“Please don’t be alarmed. I promise, I’m not dangerous. Just… desperate for work.”

Her grip loosened on the magazine. Not trust—not yet—but curiosity cracked the door.

“I’m Aiden Clarke,” I continued. “I live nearby. I paint. Poorly paid, unfortunately.” A small laugh. Self-deprecating. Harmless. “I’m trying to survive Los Angeles.”

She studied me the way women do when instinct and logic argue quietly.

“I’m actually have a work vacancy too,” she admitted.

The universe tilted.

“Do you an experience as a driver?” she asked

Her eyes lit—briefly, unmistakably because I'm in need of a chauffeur. If you’re interested, you can apply.”

She tore a small slip of paper, scribbled quickly, and handed it to me—her number, her address, her invitation.

“Send your details. Come by this evening.”

I took it carefully, reverently, as though it were nothing more than paper.

“I will,” I said. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

She left without looking back.

Only when her car disappeared did I allow myself a smile—slow, dangerous, earned.

The waiting was over.

I messaged Sancho immediately.

“Finalize everything. CV. Accounts. History. No gaps.”

This wasn’t chance.

This wasn’t coincidence.

She hadn’t recognized me.

She had chosen me.

And tonight, Tracy Rsman would open her door to a stranger—

unaware she’d just invited the architect of her fate into her world.