'Danger, ain't a stranger,
And I come running back to you'
*
I slept with someone. I went out with Cathy, Belly and Tobias, and like a teenager I slept with a random guy. I've never been one to sleep around, and this was the first time I'd even thought of it since Joe, but I just couldn't stop myself. The whole time, though, I was thinking of Harry. The way his lips felt on mine, how hungry he was for me, his hands trailing up and down my body so shamelessly. When the guy started going down on me, I said Harry's name. He assumed I'd got his name wrong.
Stupidly, I thought sleeping with someone else would get Harry out of my system, that I'd stop my mind from thinking only of him, but if anything, it just fuelled it to keep going. I hated myself for it. He'd infected my mind, left his mark, and then disappeared. We hadn't spoken since, quite frankly we didn't really need to. It was just a kiss. But I wondered every day since if it had affected him as much as it did me.
Harry is a closed book. The pages never turn when I'm around, they just gather dust. The story is forgotten and the narrator silent. I want nothing more than to open it and find out the plot, but unless he lets me I can't, I must remain in the dark.
It's my lunch break, and I'm sat in a café on the corner doing some research. No longer on the diamond, though, I've read as much as I can about the Cullinan. Now I'm focusing on replication, forgery. It feels wrong to be searching this in public, and I know that anyone could hack in and see my search history. George will have to clear it for me on the weekend.
Cubic Zirconia is the best source when forging a diamond. Moissanite can be used too, it's much harder and durable than cubic zirconia, but by the eye it is easier to tell than Moissanite is an imitation due to how it handles light. The problem with Cubic Zirconia is that since it's usually colourless, it can be easy to spot a fake. Diamonds are rarely colourless, reflecting and bouncing off light to create a technicolour effect.
If Harry really wants to fool the Crown, then he'll have to use real diamonds to replicate the Cullinan. It would be far too easy to spot a fake if CZ is used. I can easily spot a fake jewel from a mile away, anyone that's around the diamond every day will spot it the minute they walk into the room.
I've been here for twenty minutes, flicking through whatever article or academic journal I can find on the subject, completely ignoring the outside world. This café has been a solace for me over the years, always providing me with a safe and calm space when I need a break from the business of being in the city. Though in the centre of London, it's rarely frequented by tourists. It's a cute little room, flowerpots littering every corner of it and every shelf hung up high. The walls are cream, the floorboards white. An old couple that I see every week sit by the tills, eating their scones and chatting aimlessly about the passers-by. Every now and again I'll join them, but today I need to be alone.
But I've noticed for the past ten minutes someone's eyes on me. A man, probably in his 50s or 60s, watching me across the room from a table by the other window. I've tried not to pay attention to it, but when a man stares at you as intensely as he has, it's difficult not to. My eyes have lifted from my laptop once or twice, always catching his eye, always earning a small smile. I don't feel uncomfortable, necessarily, but I do feel on edge. He's probably harmless, but I know I have to be wary.
I know I recognise him, but I can't quite remember how. He may have been here before, but the thought of that, paired with how long he's been watching me today, can only feel me with anxiety. Has he done this before?
Lately, I've felt like someone has always been watching. My every move noticed by others, each action captured in someone's eyes. It's the paranoia of being involved with the Municipal, I know, but I can't help feeling worried. I haven't brought it up to the others, they'd probably shut it down and make fun of me. This isn't a world I'm used to yet, it wasn't going to happen overnight.
I sigh and look up, locking eyes with him once more. Again, he smiles, watching me over his mug as he sips his coffee. I can't look away this time. If he's going to stare at me, I'm going to stare back. We stay like that for a few minutes, and I hope he gets the hint, but instead he nods his head, and opens his mouth to speak. 'You look like someone I know,' he states, placing his mug back down on the table in front of him, his hands being warmed by the heat.
'Right,' I respond, giving a quick smile before turning my attention back to my laptop. I didn't intend to talk to him, I just wanted him to take a hint and stop staring at me.
Instead, he stands up, and walks over to my table, pulling a chair out and sitting without asking. I just watch, my mouth slightly open in shock, eyebrows furrowed. He doesn't seem to care, taking another sip of his beverage. 'A beautiful woman, very head strong. She's involved with some bad people, though,' he informs me.
The subtle compliment makes me blush, and I hate that he can see it. 'That's a shame.'
He leans forward, hands rested behind my screen, eyes piercing through me like daggers. 'It is. She's got a promising life ahead of her, but she's throwing it away for a bit of fun.'
The irony of his statement isn't lost on me. In some ways it feels like he's talking about me, but I have no idea who he is. It's not possible. 'What if the fun is what's best for her?' I ask, using this situation for myself.
He chuckles, turning his head slightly in acceptance. 'Not when the fun can threaten her life,' he simply states, never taking his eyes off mine. It feels personal.
I continue typing and scrolling, wanting him to leave me alone. The air around us is suffocating, and I want nothing more than to end this conversation and walk out the café, but I don't want him to win. It's obvious that I'm uncomfortable, anyone could see that. I spotted the owner watching us a few times, but unless I made it clear that I didn't feel safe, I knew she wouldn't do anything. I've been approached by some odd men in here before, they've handled it very well, but only when I've signalled to them that I need help.
As anxious as I feel right now, there's something inside of me that's feeling defiant.
He doesn't take the hint, remaining in his seat. 'I have a daughter, you know. Similar age to you I suspect.'
I just nod, keeping my attention on the screen in front of me. 'Nice.'
'She's very headstrong, too. But she's had a hard year.'
At this I lift my gaze, focusing on him again. His demeanour has shifted slightly, expression somewhat sad, but there is still fire behind his eyes. 'I'm sorry to hear that.'
He smiles again, sighing. 'A man broke her heart, you see. Dreadful person. Used her for his own gain and stole more than her heart in the process.'
His words spark my curiosity. The intent behind them is still unknown but they send a shiver down my spine. The mention of stealing something makes me shift nervously in my seat. The more he talks, the more I understand that I do recognise him, but not from the café. I still don't understand just yet, but now I'm aware that this isn't a chance meeting. This had to be planned. This isn't a normal conversation to be having with a stranger.
I swallow deeply, letting out a breath that had been stuck in my throat as he spoke. 'It must have been very hard on her,' I say, trying to show some compassion when all I'm feeling is fear right now.
He can probably tell; he's been reading my body language the whole time he's been sat here. Sometimes it's so easy for me to give away what I'm feeling, despite how hard I try to conceal it. 'Absolutely. No one deserves to go through what she did. But he'll face the consequences.'
I gasp lightly, hoping he doesn't notice but the smile on his lips indicates he did. 'How so?' I question.
He leans back, his arms crossed over his chest, face turned towards the windows as he watches a couple cross the street. They're holding hands, giggling and staring at the ring on her left. Recently engaged. 'He'll hurt the same way my daughter did. Have something of his taken.'
His expression is evil, malicious. It sounds like a threat. A promise. Whoever he is, he's a powerful man, that much is obvious. I turn my gaze to the couple outside too, standing near a jewellery store on the corner, now hugging and kissing. The acts of affection warm my heart but leave a pit in my stomach.
'Do you have a boyfriend?' he asks, his words causing me to furrow my eyebrows. It's a personal question, very invasive, but he's already told me about his daughter so I feel I must answer.
I shake my head, allowing my gaze to fall to my ringless fingers. 'No, no boyfriend. Happily single,' I joke, wiggling my left hand in front to show him.
He doesn't smile though. Doesn't show anything other than concentration, swallowing deeply as he takes in the ringless finger. 'Not even a tall, green eyed stranger?'
I immediately stop breathing, taking in the question. This has something to do with Harry. He's the only man I know that he could be referring to. Maybe I have been watched and followed. Maybe I wasn't being paranoid.
I can feel my hands shaking slightly, and I move them under the table to hide them. I can't give away any anxiety to him, whoever he is. He knows more about me than he should, even though I've told him nothing. 'Um, no, no man in my life. Too busy with work,' I choke out, trying to steady myself.
'I bet you are,' he adds. The more he speaks the more I understand that he knows exactly who I am, and he probably knows about Harry's line of work. If he knows about my involvement, then what does that mean for us?
I close my laptop, wanting nothing more than to leave, preparing my bag to escape his gaze. Instead, he places his hand on my computer, stopping my movements. 'My name is Hugo Charles, by the way.'
Then the penny drops, and it finally makes sense. Hugo Charles is one of the richest men in the country, owning shares in multiple banks and tech companies, while being a CEO of an intelligence agency that works alongside the government. He's also the father of Santine, the woman I know to be involved with Harry. The woman who called him when he kissed me. He was referring to her when he spoke to me, and he had just warned me of a plot to make Harry pay for whatever he did.
It's obvious that I know who he is. Everyone in this city does, his name is plastered around everywhere, always in the news for whatever investments he's made or help he's provided to the government. 'Nice to meet you,' I simply say, not meeting his gaze as I stare down at his hand.
I watch as he moves his fingers over to the cigarette case next to me, the same one I stole last week. I've kept it on me ever since, not letting it leave my side so it can provide a constant reminder of the rush I felt that day. Though illegal, it was a moment of pride for me, doing something that I would never have dreamt of. It's in my pocket at all times, my hands constantly fiddling with it so I can feel the cold silver against my skin. Whenever I sit at a table, it's next to me, always in my eyeline.
The box is hideous, and Cathy had asked me why I owned something like it over lunch the other day. I just told her it was my Dad's, found it in his stuff. She pointed out that I barely smoke. Of course, I hadn't told her that I'd picked up the habit again over the past few weeks. The bliss I feel when the smoke travels down my throat and enters my lungs is enough to make forget the stress that I feel on a daily basis. I've had to start carrying gum and body spray on me to try and hide it. At night, I'll just sit on my windowsill, window open to let the smoke escape, while I stare out at the city.
It's therapeutic in a way, even if it is shortening my life expectancy. Something about that brings me comfort, as depressing as it sounds.
He picks it up to inspect it. 'This is very nice, not something you see every day,' he comments, turning it in his hands.
'Thank you,' I whisper, keeping my eyes on his grasp.
He lifts his eyes to meet mine, and I gulp at the intense contact. 'Where did you find it?'
I scratch the back of my neck, wanting to hide any nerves that were visibly on display for him. 'My dad, gift from an employer before he packed up work.'
The same story I'd been telling everyone else that asked about it. If people knew about my Dad, then they'd believe it. He worked in this industry. But Hugo Charles, as far as I know, does not. Unless he's been researching who I am because of my involvement with Harry, which I wouldn't put past me.
He nods, placing the box on top of my laptop, the sounds of the metal meeting the device causing me to flinch. I am sure all the colour has drained from my face. I feel like I'm going to be sick. 'You know, I heard around the grape vine that one of these went missing recently. Or rather, the owners had a fake in their collection, one they'd always believed to be real.'
He definitely knew.
I put on my best smile, shoving any fears to the back of my mind. I can't let him know how terrified I am. Harry needed to know about this. 'Is that so? Where from?' I ask, moving the case into my bag with my laptop, holding my eyes with his.
I watch as he sucks on his teeth underneath his lip, the skin on top moving with the movement. 'The Silver Vaults. Have you ever been there?'
This was a dangerous game to be playing, but I'd already started playing. 'No, I don't frequent the area a lot.'
At this he laughs, a deep bellow that sends a shiver down my spine for the second time today. It's calculated. 'Right.'
I go to stand, putting my jacket back on, and lifting my bag over my shoulder. 'It was nice meeting you. I should really be going back to work now, though,' I rush, wanting to escape this minefield as soon as possible. A bomb could go off at any minute and I'd be the first victim in his warpath.
As I walk past, he catches my arm, the grip tighter than I expected. I don't try to pull away, though, because I know by the look in his eyes that he'll only get stronger with it. 'It was nice meeting you too, Atlas.'
He lets go, and I almost run out the store. The minute I'm past the windows, away from his prying eyes, I lean against a wall, holding my chest as I try to regain steady breathing again. The minute I left him I knew that I'd put my name on his list, one that he would go through until he got to Harry.
What scared my the most, was one thing, his final words.
It was nice meeting you too, Atlas.
I never told him my name.
----
A/N: Let the drama commence hehe