She didn't touch her food.
The soup had gone lukewarm, but she couldn't bring herself to lift the spoon.
Across the table, Robert stirred his coffee, his movements deliberate, unhurried, as though this were any ordinary lunch. As though her entire professional life weren't trembling on the edge of collapse.
"You said you've been tracking it," she said at last, her voice low. "How?"
He looked up then, eyes unreadable. "Security logs. Access times. Patterns in the network traffic."
"You have access to all that?"
"I know where to look," he said simply. "I don't need permission for everything."
She frowned. "That sounds… vaguely illegal."
A faint smile touched his mouth, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I prefer the word resourceful, but I won't argue."
She didn't smile back. "And what exactly have you found, Mr. Resourceful?"
He studied her, weighing how much to say. Then, finally, he spoke.
"There's been a consistent pattern of out-of-hours access to your files and your email account; particularly on Thursdays, between eleven and one. Whoever it is, they're careful. They don't use their own login. They clone temporary credentials."
Her stomach tightened. "So it could be anyone."
"Not quite. Most of the activity originates from our floor, from one of two terminals; yours and the one beside Sienna's."
At that name, Isabelle's breath caught. "Sienna?"
"I'm not saying it's her," he said quickly. "Only that it's possible."
She stared at him, the name echoing in her mind. Sienna — perfect hair, perfect smile, always lingering too close to Robert's desk, always asking questions that sounded harmless but weren't.
And now, perhaps, something else entirely.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.
"Because I can't keep it quiet forever," he said. "If this continues, it'll reach the board. Richard will have to act, and you'll be caught in the middle, whether or not you've done anything wrong."
His tone was cool, matter-of-fact, and yet there was something beneath it, something almost protective, though he clearly didn't want it to be.
She leaned back, crossing her arms. "And I'm supposed to believe you're doing this for… the good of the company?"
"Yes."
"Not for me."
He hesitated. Just long enough to make her wonder.
"You're a part of the company, aren't you?"
The answer was infuriatingly neutral, and for a moment she wanted to shake him, to demand something human, some admission that she wasn't imagining the strange, simmering current between them.
Instead, she said quietly, "You were caught on my camera."
He blinked. "What?"
"The camera I have set up," she said. "Someone found the first one, but I have another one, more discreet. It recorded a figure at my desk. Wearing your watch. With a scar under the left ear."
For a fraction of a second, she thought she saw surprise flicker across his face. Then he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.
"Show me."
"I didn't bring it with me."
"Then send it," he said evenly. "If it's me, I want to see it."
She searched his expression, looking for cracks. There were none. Just that same calm, deliberate detachment.
"Convenient," she said. "You'll say it's not you."
"Maybe it isn't," he replied. "But I'd like to find out who else wears my face."
Despite herself, a faint, unwilling smile pulled at her lips. He wasn't mocking her. Just drawing her back from the brink of panic with that dry, almost surgical tone.
Still, she didn't trust him.
She was sharp — far sharper than she gave herself credit for.
A second camera had been a clever move, and yet, as she sat across from him, arms folded in self-defence, he could see how much this entire thing had worn her down. The long hours, the endless vigilance. She was running on instinct now, all nerves and caffeine.
He hadn't meant to care.
He told himself again it wasn't about her. It was about the firm, about Richard. About keeping the brand clean and the board off their backs.
But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. Not anymore.
He'd seen what happened to people like her in places like this; competent, unguarded, unaware of how threatening their competence could look to others.
It rarely ended well.
He wanted to tell her that. To warn her. But she wouldn't believe him, not yet.
So he said instead, "Send me the footage. I'll run it through the system. If someone's cloned my access or copied my details, I'll find out."
Her eyes narrowed. "And if it really is you?"
"Then you'll have every reason to report me," he said quietly.
The bluntness seemed to disarm her. She looked away, out through the café window where the rain had started again, soft and persistent, blurring the street outside.
"It's always raining," she murmured. "Always grey."
He followed her gaze. "It's London," he said. "It would be suspicious if it weren't."
That earned the faintest laugh, barely audible, but real.
Something in his chest eased.
She turned back to him, her expression calmer now, though the tension hadn't vanished entirely.
"You really think it could be Sienna?"
"I think it could be anyone with access and a motive," he said. "But yes, she's… ambitious."
"That's a polite way to put it."
He didn't respond, though his jaw tightened.
"She flirts with you," Isabelle added, before she could stop herself. "Half the office has noticed."
He met her gaze steadily. "Half the office notices everything except the things that matter."
She went very still at that, unsure whether it was a rebuke or something else entirely.
Then he said quietly, "Be careful, Isabelle. Whoever's doing this; they're escalating. And if you're not careful, you'll walk right into it."
Her pulse quickened, but she managed a small, controlled nod. "And you?"
He tilted his head, puzzled. "What about me?"
"You be careful too," she said, her tone unreadable. "You might be walking into something yourself."
For the first time, his expression flickered, something like reluctant respect.
"Fair enough," he said. "We'll both keep watching."
They left the café together, the rain soft against the pavement.
She went one way back to the office, he another.
Both convinced they were protecting the truth.
Both watching each other more closely than ever.