Chapter 30
thirty
“Can you believe Dom went and got himself married?”
Daphne tugged at the sleeve of her blue cashmere sweater and shifted her weight from one foot to another as she stood outside Café de Flore.
She was only half-listening to her sister in her earpiece, her attention split between Celeste’s disbelieving commentary and the busy Parisian café before her.
A year of conversations with Titan—a year of encryption challenges and philosophical debates that stretched late into the night—had led to this moment, and her heart hammered against her ribs like it was trying to escape.
“Hello? Earth to Daphne? Are you even listening to me?”
“Sorry, sis. I’m just—” She checked her watch for the fourth time in as many minutes. “I’m a bit distracted.”
“I can tell. But seriously, Dom and Vivi eloped! City Hall! Just like that!” Celeste snapped her fingers loudly enough that Daphne winced and adjusted her earpiece.
“No planning, no bachelor party, no cake! But of course, we all crashed it. You don’t get married in this family without inviting, you know, the family. ”
Daphne swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Good for them. After everything with Sabin and Praetorian, they deserve some happiness.”
“Yeah, but—oh, wait! Aren’t you meeting your mystery man right now? Is that why you’re so distracted?”
Her tablet buzzed in her purse, and Daphne fumbled to retrieve it, nearly dropping the device on the sidewalk. A single notification lit up the screen.
Titan: I’m inside. Corner booth by the window. Blue sweater suits you.
Her head snapped up, gaze sweeping across the café windows. He could see her. Right now. Standing here, fidgeting like a teenager before her first date.
“I have to go,” she told Celeste, her voice tight.
“Oh my God, it is him! What’s he look like? Tall? Short? Please tell me he’s not another tech bro with terrible fashion sense like the last guy.”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll call you after.” Daphne pressed her finger to the earpiece to disconnect before her sister could protest further.
She stared at the café entrance, suddenly aware of every imperfection in her appearance—the way her dark hair refused to stay tucked behind her ear, the smudge on her glasses she’d missed that morning, the fact that she’d chosen comfort over style with her well-worn boots.
But it was too late to worry about that now.
She took a deep breath and pushed through the door.
The café embraced her with warmth and the rich aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread.
The murmur of conversations in French and English created a soothing backdrop as she paused just inside the entrance.
Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over red leather booths and small round tables.
The place exuded old-world charm with its mirrored walls and Art Deco fixtures.
Corner booth by the window.
She scanned the space, gaze skipping over couples bent toward each other, solitary patrons lost in books or laptops, a group of tourists consulting a map—until her attention landed on the corner booth.
A man stood as he spotted her, tall and imposing in an expertly tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent. Dark hair swept back from a strong forehead. Olive skin. Stormy blue-gray eyes.
Oh… God.
She was such an idiot.
Titan.
And who was one of the most well-known titans in Greek mythology?
Atlas.
How could she not have figured this out before now?
Titan—her Titan—was Atlas fucking Frost.
The man she’d been falling for over the past year—the one who’d challenged her intellectually, who’d made her laugh at three in the morning, who’d sent her encryption puzzles that kept her awake for days—was a man wanted by six governments.
From the very first message on that tech forum, from the very first cleverly-worded response to her encryption solution—he’d known exactly who she was.
Daphne Wilde. WSW’s cybersecurity department.
The family’s digital nervous system. He’d known, and he’d let her talk, let her trust, let her tell him things she’d never told anyone else.
You’re the most interesting person in any room, Daphne. They’re just too distracted to notice.
She’d replayed that line for weeks. Weeks.
The burning sensation behind her sternum sharpened into something she recognized now as fury.
Oh, hell, no.
She turned around and walked out.
The door swung open ahead of her and she pushed through it into the cool spring air of Boulevard Saint-Germain. The temperature change fogged her glasses at the edges. She pulled them off, wiped them on her sweater, and put them back on as she turned left and kept walking.
“Daphne.”
She didn’t slow down.
“Daphne.”
Closer now. She could hear his footsteps, longer and faster than hers, closing the distance without apparent effort.
She cut sharply around a couple walking a small dog and ducked past a newspaper stand, but a large group of Chinese tourists crowded the sidewalk, forcing her to stop or plow through them.
In that moment of hesitation, he caught her hand.
“Five minutes,” Atlas said, spinning her around to face him. “Just five minutes.”
She yanked her arm free and whirled to face him.
Up close, he was even more devastatingly handsome, and those storm-gray eyes held a vulnerability that seemed at odds with everything she knew about Atlas Frost, international information broker and wanted criminal.
He was also slightly out of breath, which…
good. This was a man who got everything he wanted easily, and she wasn’t about to make it easy.
“Five minutes for what? More lies?” she snapped. “Or did you just want to see how gullible I really am in person?”
“No—”
“Was this some kind of joke to you? Or was it about my family?” The idea that their entire connection could have been manufactured for intelligence gathering made her stomach churn.
A year of late-night conversations, shared confidences, and intellectual challenges—all potentially just a sophisticated fishing expedition.
“It wasn’t like that.” Atlas glanced around, clearly uncomfortable having this conversation in public. “Not for long, anyway.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “So it started as manipulation and evolved into... what, exactly?”
He ran a hand through his dark hair, mussing its perfect styling. The gesture was so human, so at odds with his polished appearance, that it caught her off guard.
“Yes, initially I reached out because you’re a Wilde.” His voice was exactly as she’d imagined it would be during their text conversations—low, cultured, with just a hint of something that wasn’t quite American or European but somewhere in between. “But that changed quickly.”
“When exactly? Before or after you helped Praetorian nearly kill my cousin in Antarctica?”
“That’s not exactly what happened.”
“Isn’t it? Because Elliot nearly died, and we know Praetorian had inside help with their expedition cover. And now I find out my online... whatever you were... is Atlas Frost, who just happens to broker half the black market deals in Europe. Including for Praetorian.”
“I broker information,” he corrected. “And deals, yes. I don’t take sides.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“It’s supposed to be the truth.” Atlas stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I didn’t know Praetorian was planning to release a bioweapon. By the time I figured it out, I was already helping your family behind the scenes.”
Daphne snorted. “Right. Out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Out of interest in keeping myself alive,” he countered. “A global pandemic isn’t good for anyone’s business model. Even mine.”
A mother with a stroller maneuvered around them, giving them a curious glance. Atlas took Daphne’s elbow and guided her toward a less crowded section of sidewalk near a bookshop window. She allowed it, if only to move their argument out of the flow of pedestrian traffic.
“You knew who I was from the beginning,” she said, pulling her arm free once they’d moved. “You knew and you let me... you let me think you were just some brilliant tech guy who happened to like the same obscure forums I did.”
“And if I’d introduced myself as Atlas Frost?” He raised an eyebrow. “Would you have spoken to me at all?”
She couldn’t answer that. Of course she wouldn’t have.
“That’s what I thought.” He sighed. “Look, my initial contact was professional interest. The Wildes have an impressive cybersecurity operation, and you’re the brain behind it. I wanted to know what you knew.”
“About what?”
“About me. About my clients.” He shrugged. “It’s my job to stay ahead of people who might interfere with my business.”
Daphne felt sick. All those late-night conversations, the puzzles he’d challenged her with, the way he’d seemed to understand parts of her that no one else did—had it all been intelligence gathering?
“So all of it was fake?” She hated how her voice wavered. “Every conversation we had?”
Something shifted in his expression—a crack in the polished facade. “No.” The word came out rougher than his usual controlled tone. “Not all of it. Not most of it.”
“How am I supposed to believe anything you say?”
“You shouldn’t,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t, in your position. But I’m asking you to listen anyway.”
A couple walked by, arms linked, laughing about something in rapid-fire French. Daphne glanced at them, suddenly aware of how this must look—a man in an expensive suit earnestly pleading his case to a woman who clearly wanted to be anywhere else.
“Five minutes, you said.” She checked her watch. “You’ve got three left.”
Atlas nodded, seeming to gather himself. “I approached you for business reasons. But I kept talking to you because you’re...” He hesitated. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. The way your mind works, the way you see patterns others miss—it’s extraordinary.”
“Flattery won’t work.” But she felt a treacherous warmth at his words nonetheless.