Chapter 19: The Arrival
450 Words
Gael Aiden Andrez’s POV (Aiden Clarke)
Her number still burned against my palm when I stepped out of Starbucks. Warm. Fragile. Dangerous. I didn’t allow the moment to linger.
“Sancho,” I said the second the call connected. “Did you receive what I sent?”
“Already on it, Boss,” he replied. “CV, bank records, residential proof. Aiden Clarke is breathing.”
Good. He needed to be alive before nightfall.
I switched to the burner phone—the one that belonged to him, not me—and dialed her number.
“Hello, Miss Rsman,” I said smoothly. “I’m calling to confirm you received the information I sent.”
“Yes,” she replied after a brief pause. “Can you come by this evening?”
A smile curved slowly across my mouth.
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
The call ended. The countdown began.
I showered quickly, methodically, stripping away every trace of Gael Aiden Andrez. I dressed plainly—nothing tailored, nothing expensive. Clean. Quiet. Forgettable. The kind of man you invite inside without locking the door behind him.
Forgot my watch in the bathroom..picked it up and returned to meet Sancho already sitted on my bed —arms crossed, expression suspicious.
“Do you enjoy ambushing people in their private spaces?” I asked dryly.
He ignored me. “You’re skipping Casino Frata tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you going dressed like a confession waiting to happen?”
“I’m going to Tracy’s.”
That got his attention.
“Your car?”
“No. A cab. The persona matters.”
He sighed like a man babysitting chaos. “Do you want backup?”
“No,” I said firmly. “And do not follow me.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I like you. Cab’s downstairs.”
Thirty minutes later, I stood in front of her house.
Soft lights glowed through the windows. Warm. Domestic. Safe. It looked nothing like the danger approaching its door.
I rang the bell.
She opened it.
And for a moment—just one—I forgot how to lie.
Tracy stood there in a bodycon dress that clung to her like it was designed with intention. Bare skin. Bare face. No armor. Just her. Real and devastatingly unaware.
She waved a hand in front of my face. “Hello? You’re zoning out.”
“Sorry,” I said quietly. “You have a beautiful home.”
She smiled. “Thank you. You came just in time. I made dinner—it’s enough for two.”
An invitation. Casual. Intimate. Fatal.
I stepped inside.
And the door closed behind me.
- Writer
