Chapter Five — Trying to Catch the Mouse
838 Words
Anthony hated unanswered questions.
They lingered under his skin, sharp and persistent, unraveling the control he built his world on. And Poppy—infuriating, brilliant Poppy—had become the only question that mattered.
Long past midnight, he stood in his office, the city glowing beyond the glass walls. His patience was gone, replaced by something colder. Focused.
“I want every woman named Poppy in this city,” he said to his hacker. “No delays. No mistakes.”
The hacker hesitated. “That’ll take time, boss. Records, aliases… people like her don’t leave clean trails.”
Anthony’s jaw tightened.
“Then get dirty.”
Hours dragged.
Anthony paced like a caged predator, tension building with every passing minute. He snapped at his men, dismissed reports before they were finished, replayed her voice in his mind.
Stay alive.
It echoed, taunting.
Finally, the hacker rushed in, breath uneven, a stack of files clutched tightly.
“I’ve narrowed it down to three,” he said. “That’s all that survived the filters.”
Anthony took them without a word.
He scanned quickly—then slower.
And there she was.
A grainy surveillance image. A slight tilt of the head. A posture that spoke of control even in stillness.
Poppy.
The dossier was incomplete—aliases, fragments, entire years missing.
A ghost.
A myth whispered about in circles that feared saying her name too loudly.
Anthony leaned back, a slow, dangerous smile forming.
“Gather the men,” he said calmly.
“We’re going hunting.”
The apartment was wrong the moment he stepped inside.
Too clean.
Too empty.
No scent. No trace of life.
Temporary.
A shell.
Anthony moved through it with quiet precision until something caught his attention.
A note on the refrigerator, held in place by a small flower-shaped magnet.
He read it once.
I thought I told you not to say my name to anyone, didn’t I, handsome?
A sharp breath left him.
“Fuck.”
The paper crumpled in his hand, frustration and admiration colliding.
“You’re enjoying this,” he muttered. “Aren’t you?”
His gaze shifted to a single framed photo on the mantel. Poppy stood among strangers, her expression unreadable, her presence unmistakable even in a blurred image.
He memorized it.
“Boss,” one of his men called from the doorway. “We’ve searched everything. She’s not here.”
Anthony nodded once.
“Let’s go.”
But the tension followed him.
The penthouse was dark when he returned.
Quiet.
Waiting.
He loosened his tie, rolled tension from his shoulders, and pushed open his bedroom door—
—and stopped.
Poppy lay across his bed like she belonged there.
Black lace traced her silhouette, stark against pale skin. She looked effortless, dangerous, completely at ease in a space no one else would dare claim.
Her eyes met his.
A slow smile followed.
“Hi, handsome,” she said. “I couldn’t stay away any longer.”
Anthony closed the door behind him, the soft click loud in the silence.
“You broke into my home,” he said evenly. “Again.”
She sat up, sheets shifting around her without concern.
“You broke my rule.”
A pause.
“I missed your touch,” she added, softer now.
The air changed.
Thicker. Charged.
Anthony stepped closer, stopping just out of reach.
“You wanted to see if I’d find you.”
“I wanted to see how hard you’d try.”
His gaze darkened.
“You’re playing a risky game.”
Poppy tilted her head, unbothered.
“So are you.”
Silence stretched—tight, unbroken.
Then Anthony moved.
Slowly.
His hand lifted, brushing his knuckles lightly against her wrist. Not a claim. Not yet.
“Careful,” he murmured. “Mice who come back to the trap don’t always escape.”
Her smile sharpened—fearless, certain.
“Good thing,” she whispered, leaning closer, “I’m not the mouse.”
That was all it took.
The distance between them disappeared in a breath.
What followed wasn’t hesitation—it was inevitability.
Tension broke, not into chaos, but into something deeper. Controlled at first, measured, as if both were still deciding who would yield.
Neither did.
Hands learned without asking. Boundaries blurred without permission. Every movement carried the same electricity that had followed them through shadows and rooftops.
It wasn’t just desire.
It was challenge.
Recognition.
A collision of equals who had finally stopped pretending otherwise.
Anthony pulled her closer, no longer testing—this time certain. Poppy answered without resistance, meeting him with the same intensity, the same refusal to be anything less than in control of herself.
Power shifted between them, back and forth, until it no longer mattered who held it.
Only that neither let go.
Hours later, the city still burned beyond the glass.
Inside, the tension had changed—but not disappeared.
It had deepened.
And for the first time since she walked into his life—
Poppy hadn’t run.
Neither had he.
- Writer
