Chapter 41 #2
While she waits, she wraps her hands around the cool water glass, condensation gathering against her palms. For once, her mind feels quiet. The soft clatter of plates, the low murmur of locals, and the comforting scent of grilled meat, coffee, and maple syrup fill her senses.
The bell above the door jingles again.
Like everyone else in the diner, she glances up to see a tall, muscular, heavily tattooed man step inside.
His clothes look out of place—a black dress shirt, dark jeans, and black leather gloves.
His head is shaved, his face hidden behind dark sunglasses—until he slides them off.
Amber eyes—sharp, unblinking, predatory—lock onto her as he settles into the booth by the door, directly facing her.
She drops her gaze to her water glass. A strange feeling coils in her stomach, whispering that something about him isn’t right.
Then again, maybe New York has simply taught her to be cautious of handsome men who favor dark outfits.
Her food arrives with a satisfying clunk as the plates hit the table.
She takes her first bite, grease and melted cheese flooding her mouth.
She stifles a moan of pleasure. Max is relentless about their eating habits, insistent on discipline and balance.
She hasn’t eaten like this in ages. The fried chicken from Thanksgiving feels like a lifetime ago.
The shake is thick and sweet, Oreo pieces crunching between her teeth. She dips a few fries into it, savoring the combination, feeling almost normal. Almost like a regular twenty-something woman treating herself after a small but meaningful victory.
While she eats, she pulls out her phone and opens the web browser.
It’s time for a little research.
“Max… Anthony Cooper… Yale University,” she murmurs. Her fingers move quickly, trying different combinations of his name and credentials. Each search sparks a flicker of hope—only for it to be extinguished by the same thin results.
She takes another bite of her burger and washes it down with her shake.
It makes no sense.
Here is a man poised to change the world through his company, yet almost nothing about him exists online.
Beyond a brief mention of CTEC’s sale, there are no recent articles or interviews.
Even the old company’s website offers only a clipped mission statement and a note that he’s a Yale alumnus.
There’s no mention of his supposed addiction years ago. No social media. No digital footprint.
It’s as if he exists in a vacuum.
She suddenly recalls Max mentioning at the party in early October that the host was a friend of his. Taking another bite of her burger, she decides to reach out to Claire, hoping for another lead to investigate. To her disappointment, Claire replies that she can’t remember the host’s name.
“Girl… I go to so many,” she texts back, followed by several laughing emojis, leaving Lila at yet another dead end.
She isn’t used to her tried-and-true snooping methods failing her. Usually, a quick search turns up plenty of details, even on someone as private as Jake. But this time, it feels like she keeps hitting a wall.
Feeling defeated, she circles back to CTEC’s website.
Her gaze lingers on the professionally taken photo of Max listed among the executives.
The image captures his sharp features and that signature, confident, pearly-white smile.
It’s a striking contrast to the cold, detached expression he usually wears in public, or the fleeting sadness that appears when his mask slips on rare occasions.
The smile in the photo radiates boyish charm, the kind that could easily disarm anyone, yet the still image somehow fails to capture the intensity of seeing it in person.
Acting on impulse, driven by the thought that the website might soon vanish, she saves the photo to her phone’s gallery.
It’s the only image of him she’s been able to find online.
She tells herself it’s for research on this enigmatic man, though the flutter in her chest suggests it might be something more.
“Are you missing me?”
His text appears out of the blue, and despite herself, her heart is tugged. She rolls her eyes, unable to stop the smile spreading across her face.
“You wish,” she types back.
He replies instantly, “Hm… I think you are. ;)”
So typical, she thinks, pressing her lips together to stop the grin threatening to spread any wider.
The last thing she wants is to sit here smiling to herself like an idiot in the middle of a restaurant.
He always has a way of trying to define her feelings for her, as if he knows her better than she knows herself.
She considers telling him he’s delusional. Instead, she leaves him on read, knowing it will keep him wanting.
That is his punishment for not reaching out sooner.
Yet, as much as she hates to admit it, she is missing him.
Max embodies everything Lila once believed she despised.
He carries the same traits she long associated with her grandmother’s hypocritical, controlling ways—the very things that eventually drove her to run away.
And yet beneath that surface, he possesses qualities she has always desired in a man, traits she once wished Jake had more of when they were together.
Max is possessive, but also fiercely devoted.
His way of showing it is twisted, yet he has been undeniably attentive and doting.
Even when she tries to keep her distance, she can feel the weight of his gaze, steady and consuming, as if he’s memorizing her—committing every shift of her body and flicker of emotion to memory.
It should terrify her. Sometimes it does.
Yet there are moments when his intensity feels like proof of how deeply he cares. Max’s fixation is raw and unrelenting, a dangerous kind of devotion that keeps her suspended somewhere between fear and fascination.
Knowing her uncle will be arriving soon, and that he would give her grief for making him wait even a second despite having little else to do, she pays the bill and gathers her things.
As she approaches the door, where the man with the amber eyes waits, she flicks one final glance at him, unable to stop herself.
He hasn’t moved.
His posture is unnervingly still, his gaze fixed on her as if he’d been waiting for her to look his way.
He lifts a mug and takes a slow sip of coffee, calm and composed.
But something in his eyes makes her pulse quicken.
They’re too focused, too sharp—as if he’s studying her rather than simply looking.
She looks away quickly, pretending not to notice, and pushes open the door. The bell jingles above her head, its cheerful chime announcing her departure to the entire diner. Cool air rushes against her skin, but the chill running down her spine has little to do with the temperature.
She pulls on the hoodie Max gave her after the first night she spent at his apartment—her favorite thing in her closet—and hurries toward the nearby bookstore. She refuses to look back, even though the weight of unseen eyes seems to follow her all the way across the road.
Even after the restaurant disappears from view, the feeling lingers. The hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end. She swears she can still feel his gaze—not smoldering like Max’s, but cold and deliberate—tracking her every move.
39
The holiday season means her grandmother is consumed with church activities that evening.
As a key member of the church’s small, tight-knit events committee, she’s out of the house for tonight’s play and won’t be home until late.
With the Christmas Eve potluck set for the next day, Lila is left in charge of preparing a few dishes while her grandmother is away.
Lila doesn’t mind. It’s been a long time since she last cooked.
There’s something soothing about getting lost in the rhythm of chopping, stirring, and seasoning.
The faint soreness in her arm from the birth-control implant she got earlier makes slicing vegetables and meat a little cumbersome, but the work is still satisfying.
She moves easily around the small kitchen, her attention split between the food and the true-crime video playing from her phone.
She’s nearly done for the night. Being here doesn’t feel quite as bad when she has the house to herself.
The narrator’s voice drones on, pulling her so deeply into the telling of a horrific case that she doesn’t hear the footsteps behind her.
“Can you turn that shit up any louder?” a harsh voice barks.
She jumps. The ladle slips from her hand and hits the tiled floor with a loud clatter, splattering sauce everywhere.
“Holy fuck! You scared the crap out of me,” Lila snaps, her pulse racing as she scowls at him.
“It’s so fucking loud. My head’s pounding,” he growls. The heavy, unmistakable stench of alcohol and cigarettes drifts toward her, turning her stomach. He must’ve gone out drinking after dropping her back off at the house. With what money, she has no clue.
He sways slightly, bloodshot eyes narrowing as if her very presence offends him.
Her irritation flares, but she forces it down and exits the video. “Sorry. I didn’t think anyone would be home,” she mutters, turning her back to him.
She can feel him still standing there, staring. The tension tightens in her chest as she tries to refocus, grabbing the ladle and tossing it into the sink. She hopes he’ll leave without another word.
“You think you’re better than us,” her uncle slurs.
Footsteps shuffle closer.
She turns quickly, her back meeting the counter, hands gripping the edge as she watches him warily. “What are you on about?” She rolls her eyes but keeps her expression otherwise detached, knowing he’s fishing for a reaction.
“You look down on us.” He takes another unsteady step, then another, closing the distance. Lila’s body stiffens, her heart hammering. “You and your bitch of a mom.”