Mathieu Lewis's POV
The car stopped in front of a wrought-iron gate. Beyond it, a path lined with cypress trees led to a cream-colored villa bathed in the golden light of evening. Amber shifted in her seat, eyes gleaming.
"Finally! I thought that ride would never end. And this car… honestly, they could've arranged something more spacious."
I didn't answer. The driver stepped out and opened the door. I got out first. London's air had that damp chill I knew too well. Amber joined me, her heels clicking against the gravel, her coat slipping off her shoulders like an unnecessary gesture.
Two staff members waited on the porch. One wore a simple suit, the other a sleek black dress. Both smiling, professional.
"Mr. Lewis, Madam. Welcome to Kensington Residence. We hope your journey was pleasant."
Amber rolled her eyes.
"The flight was awful. And I hate airplane pillows. But at least it's warm here."
I simply nodded. We were led inside — polished wood floors, ivory walls, bouquets of lilies. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.
And then she appeared.
At the end of the hallway, near a bay window, a silhouette. At first, I thought she was a vision. A woman — tall, young, her hair swept into a loose chignon. She wore a cream-colored suit, perfectly tailored. Her gaze was clear, direct. She stepped forward.
"Mr. Lewis. I'm delighted to welcome you."
Her voice was soft but assured. She extended her hand. I took it. Her palm was warm, firm.
"I'm Althea Morgan. Head of Marketing for the London office. We'll be working together over the next few weeks."
Amber cut in before she could finish.
"Marketing? Oh, you're the one who handles ads and social media, right? Just don't bother me during my facials."
Althea remained composed. I stood frozen a second too long. There was something in her eyes. An intensity. A promise. Or a warning.
"Pleasure to meet you," I said at last.
She nodded slightly, then turned to Amber.
"Mrs. Lewis, I hope you'll find everything here to your liking. If you need anything, don't hesitate."
Amber shrugged.
"I just want silence, shopping, and a decent mattress. The rest doesn't matter."
But I was already looking only at her. Althea. That name echoed like a secret.
Amber walked into the villa without a glance back, dragging the young maid behind her like a spoiled queen. Her voice was already echoing through the hall, demanding a room with a view, jasmine tea, and "sheets that aren't scratchy, please."
I stayed on the porch, facing Althea. The silence between us was almost comfortable.
I cleared my throat.
"I'm sorry for… her tone. She's…"
I stopped. I didn't want to defend her. Or lie.
Althea gave a faint smile, discreet, without mockery.
"You don't need to apologize, Mr. Lewis. I've seen worse."
She paused, then added more softly:
"But I imagine it's not easy. Every day."
I shrugged. She was right. But I didn't answer.
She gestured toward the terrace with a graceful motion.
"If you have a few minutes, I can walk you through the program. It's still mild out."
I nodded. We crossed the living room and stepped outside. The pool stretched before us, smooth as glass. The sky was pale gray, almost white. The air smelled of damp wood and lavender.
We sat at the edge of the water, on wide stone tiles. She pulled a tablet from her bag and unlocked it with a swift gesture.
"Here are the objectives of your mission."
She showed me the screen. Charts, tables, projections. Her voice was calm, precise.
"Headquarters expects a full relaunch of the European branch. New branding, new digital strategy, and most importantly… a partnership with the Hensley Group."
I looked up.
"Hensley? The Americans?"
She nodded.
"They'll be here tomorrow. Summit meeting, 9 a.m., at our Mayfair offices. Attending: the UK CEO, Charles Whitmore; Hensley's lead investor — a Mr. Blake; and a creative director from Milan, Luca Ferraro."
She paused.
"And you, of course. Representing the Paris headquarters."
I stared at the water. My reflection trembled on the surface. I didn't want to be here. But I had no choice.
"And you? Will you be there too?"
She looked at me. For a long moment.
"I'm the one who prepared this meeting. I can't afford to miss it."
I nodded. She handed me the tablet.
"It's all here. The stakes are high. If we succeed, we redefine the company's image for the next ten years. If we fail…"
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
I took the tablet. Our fingers brushed. A shiver ran through me. She felt it. But said nothing.
She stood.
"Rest well, Mr. Lewis. Tomorrow, it begins."
And she walked away, her heels tapping softly against the stone — like punctuation.
Althea walked away, fluid silhouette, heels tapping softly against the stone. I stayed behind, seated at the edge of the pool. The water was still, almost too perfect. The sky had darkened, shifting to a deeper gray. A plane passed overhead, drawing a white line across the silence.
I pulled out my phone. The screen lit up, cold against my palm. I dialed the Paris office. One ring. Then a familiar voice.
"Lewis Office, good evening."
"It's me. Mathieu."
"Mr. Lewis, did you arrive safely?"
"Yes. Listen, I need you to send me the confidential report on Hensley's European performance. The one with the internal notes on strategic tensions."
A brief pause.
"The one you marked in red?"
"Exactly. Before tomorrow morning. Secure email."
"Understood. I'll take care of it right away."
"Thank you."
I hung up. The screen went dark. I held it in my hand a moment longer, as if it could shield me from what was coming.
And then I felt her.
Amber.
She approached silently, behind me. Her hands slid over my shoulders — soft, insistent. She began to massage me, slowly, like she was playing at tenderness.
"You're so tense, darling…"
Her voice was sweet, almost childlike. But I didn't relax. I stayed upright, eyes fixed on the water.
"You were talking to Paris?"
"Yes."
She laughed softly, her fingers pressing a little harder.
"You work too much. You should think about me a little more."
I turned my head slightly. Our eyes met. Hers were bright, playful. Mine… uneasy.
I said nothing. She kept massaging, as if she didn't see. Or refused to see.
And I… I was already thinking about tomorrow. About Althea. About Hensley. And everything I was running from.
I sighed, long and low. Her massage wasn't relaxing. It was too deliberate, too calculated. Like everything about her lately.
"I need to freshen up," I said, straightening. "Unwind a little. It was a long trip. And I'm starving."
She didn't answer right away. Instead, I felt her body lean closer, her breath brushing my neck. Then her hand slid slowly under my shirt, fingertips grazing my abdomen.
"I could run you a bath," she whispered. "With essential oils. Lavender… or sandalwood. Remember?"
I didn't move. She knelt behind me, her hands still on my skin.
"Or maybe… the jacuzzi?" she murmured. "Nothing like a little heat to stir the appetite."
I tensed. She felt it. But she didn't stop. Her lips brushed my ear.
"Dinner always tastes better after something… erotic."
I closed my eyes for a second. No desire. Just vertigo. A need to escape. To disappear into silence.
Her hand was still under my shirt. Her breath against my skin. And me — somewhere else entirely.
Then the phone buzzed.
A call.
I grabbed it like a rope in the void.
"Excuse me," I said, already standing.
Amber pouted, annoyed. But I didn't give her time to respond. I answered.
"Yes?"
The voice was clear, professional.
"Mr. Lewis? This is the London office. We've just received an urgent update regarding tomorrow's meeting."
I stepped away from the pool, from Amber's perfume, from her insistent hands.
"I'm listening."
Behind me, she stayed still. Then, in a syrupy tone:
"You're really going to leave me like this? I promised you a bath… and more."
I turned slightly. Our eyes met. Hers burned. Mine… were elsewhere.
"Work doesn't wait, Amber."
She shrugged, feigning hurt. Then walked off slowly, like an actress exiting the stage.
I stayed there, phone to my ear, heart pounding. Not for her. For tomorrow.
For what I had to face.
I answered, I noted, I confirmed. But my mind drifted. Even with the phone pressed to my ear, I returned to her. That girl. That night. A kind of intensity I'd never felt again. Her face escaped me, but her breath, her gestures, her voice… they resurfaced. I never knew her name. Not the place. Just the vertigo. The absence.
The silence. I hung up. The report awaited. So did the meeting. But I stayed there, by the water's edge, haunted by a stranger I never stopped searching for. A shadow in my memory. A crack in my present. And tomorrow, maybe, a flicker of truth.