Chapter 60

Icarus insisted on accompanying me, even after I explained it was just a casual girl-talk meeting. He reasoned that he could sit somewhere nearby, either at the back or outside, to keep an eye on things in case of danger. Try as I might, I couldn’t find a valid argument to dissuade him. The truth was, I didn’t feel entirely safe—not even while walking through my own office building, let alone venturing outside the bank's headquarters. With an unknown threat lurking, determined to end my life, rejecting his protection wasn’t an option I could afford.

We stepped out together, Icarus flanking me like a shadow.

"And who’s this, pretty boy?" Mireille teased, her gaze sweeping over him with an amused grin.

"This is my personal bodyguard. He’s coming with us. I hope that’s alright," I said, hesitating as I spoke.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn’t mind if he sat right next to me." Mireille bit her lower lip, her eyes locking onto a visibly flustered Icarus.

I couldn’t blame her. Dressed in a fitted black suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie, Icarus looked effortlessly handsome. He had the kind of appeal that turned heads without even trying. Yet, despite his striking appearance, he seemed blissfully unaware of his allure. A sheepish smile flickered across his face as Mireille turned up her flirtation. Feeling an odd surge of protectiveness, I stepped between them, shielding my bodyguard from the prowling tigress in front of me.

"Relax!" Mireille laughed, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "I’m just kidding. He’s not my type." She winked at him, her tone playful.

I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Mireille caught the subtle movement, her sharp eyes darting between me and Icarus.

"Ahhh, I see now," she said, a mischievous smirk forming. "He might not be my type, but he’s definitely yours."

"No!" I objected, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. I glanced at Icarus, who now looked even more uncomfortable. "I mean, no offense, Mr. Kroos… You’re perfectly fine—great, actually! I just—there’s someone else—"

"Ohhh," Mireille interrupted, her grin widening as understanding dawned. "Your heart’s already spoken for."

"Yes." I nodded instinctively, but the weight of my words hit me a second too late. "Wait—no! That’s not what I meant!" I stammered, laughter spilling out in nervous bursts.

Now, both Mireille and Icarus were watching me, their faces painted with identical sly grins. My futile attempts to salvage the moment only made things worse.

"Um… can we just go get that coffee?" I suggested, eager to steer the conversation to safer ground.

"Sure," Mireille said with a knowing chuckle. "Follow me."

Icarus trailed a few paces behind as Mireille led me through the bustling streets. Without warning, she tugged me into a narrow alleyway. I hesitated but kept moving. I’d rarely ventured outside the bank’s headquarters, so even if she claimed this was the district’s most popular café, I wouldn’t have known.

I glanced over my shoulder. Icarus was still following, his sharp eyes scanning our surroundings.

"This way," Mireille said, turning down an even smaller alley.

Something about the place set my nerves on edge. The emptiness, the way shadows seemed to linger—it reminded me too much of the places I’d fought wolves in the past. My muscles tensed instinctively. Mireille noticed immediately.

"Relax," she said with a reassuring smile. "I know it looks sketchy, but trust me, they serve the best coffee in the city." She placed a hand over her heart as if swearing an oath.

I forced myself to shrug off the unease and took a deep breath. When I glanced at Icarus, he gave me a subtle nod, his expression calm but alert. It was enough to make me push aside my growing anxiety and plaster a smile on my face.

"Here we are!" Mireille announced, gesturing proudly to a charming wooden door.

The café’s exterior was a mix of raw, dark wood and red brick—a style I’d always admired. The sign above the door read Sabores de Luna. Despite its location in this secluded alley, the interior was stunning. Industrial and modern elements blended seamlessly. Exposed brick and wooden beams were softened by large windows, warm lighting, and plush pillows scattered across cozy seating areas.

Under normal circumstances, I would have loved this place. But the moment I crossed the threshold, a chill ran down my spine.

"Isn’t this place amazing?" Mireille asked, her grin wide and expectant.

"Y-yeah. It’s… really cozy," I replied, forcing a smile.

Icarus stepped inside, his eyes sweeping the room. After a quick survey, he turned to me. "It’s safe," he said confidently. "I’ll wait outside until you’re done."

"B-but you can stay—" I began, feeling more at ease with him nearby.

"It’s fine," he said with a reassuring smirk before stepping out, leaving me alone with Mireille.

She leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear. "I think he likes you," she whispered. "You don’t have to date him, but with shoulders like that and a butt like his? He’d make an excellent stress reliever."

I stifled a laugh, shaking my head at her one-track mind. For once, I was relieved Icarus hadn’t overheard her bold remark.

We found a table by the large window, and I glanced outside, spotting Icarus standing ten feet away. His focus wasn’t on us but on the street, his watchful gaze scanning for any potential threats.

Even in this cozy, beautifully designed café, my mind refused to relax. Was I being paranoid, or was this unease a warning I shouldn’t ignore?

"What can I get you?"

The waiter’s voice snapped me from my thoughts. He was unlike any waiter I’d encountered before. His espresso-toned skin contrasted with his brilliant white teeth as he smiled, his piercing green eyes almost unnerving. His Dolce sweater clung perfectly to his broad shoulders, and even his jeans and sneakers screamed high-end fashion.

No, he wasn’t just an ordinary waiter. Everything about him—from his poised demeanor to the subtle air of entitlement—screamed of someone who might have inherited a fortune and opened a café purely out of boredom, unconcerned about whether it turned a profit.

“Rafe!” Mireille called out to him, her tone warm and familiar.

He chuckled softly, his movements fluid as he reached for her hand. Lowering his head, his full lips brushed against her palm in a gesture that felt more intimate than polite. But then, his eyes snapped to mine. The intensity of his gaze made me flinch. A sly smirk spread across his face, as if he’d caught me in the act of something embarrassing—staring at his lips, perhaps.

“And who is your lovely friend?” he asked, his eyes unwavering as they remained locked on mine.

“This is Thalassa,” Mireille replied with a knowing smile. “My new friend.”

“Welcome, Thalassa.” His voice dropped an octave, becoming rich and velvety, as if deliberately meant to draw me in. He extended his hand toward me.

“Nice to meet you...” I managed, offering him a hesitant smile as I shook his hand.

For a moment, I braced myself, half-expecting him to repeat the palm-kissing ritual, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his dark eyes roving over me with a deliberate slowness that made my skin prickle.

“What kind of coffee do you like, Thalassa?” he asked, his gaze unrelenting.

“Flat white, please,” I replied quickly, breaking eye contact and glancing toward the window. His presence felt suffocating.

There was something strange about him—his scent, for one. The cologne he wore was far too strong, almost cloying. Oddly, it seemed to affect me more than anyone else. Mireille didn’t react to it at all. When Rafe finally turned and strolled toward the bar, I exhaled in relief. He exchanged a few words with a tall, brown-haired barista, who glanced briefly in our direction before turning to prepare the order.

“So... what do you think?” Mireille grinned, leaning closer to me.

“About what?” I asked, startled out of my thoughts.

“This place... and Rafe,” she teased, her grin widening.

“It’s... nice,” I said, forcing a smile as I took another look around. The cozy ambiance of the café should have felt inviting, yet something about it set me on edge.

“You don’t sound too convinced.” She raised an eyebrow.

“I guess I’ll know after I’ve had the coffee.” I tried to brush off her observation with a bright, exaggerated grin.

Even as I spoke, an inexplicable sensation prickled at the back of my neck. Someone was staring at me. My body tensed involuntarily as I turned toward the source of the feeling. The barista’s golden eyes met mine, luminous and piercing, holding my gaze for a brief moment. My breath caught in my throat. His eyes... they seemed to glow. But just as quickly as I noticed, the glow disappeared. He turned away, resuming his task like nothing had happened.

I froze. I knew what I had seen. My instincts screamed that something was wrong with this place. Every fiber of my being urged me to leave, but I couldn’t just get up and run without a plausible excuse.

My gaze shifted to the window. Outside, Icarus stood steady, his expression calm but watchful. I trusted him with my life. If there was real danger, he would have signaled me. Still, I couldn’t shake the unease coiling in my chest. My senses stayed on high alert, despite my best efforts to convince myself otherwise.

I took a deep breath, hoping that my nerves were simply playing tricks on me—that this feeling of paranoia was just that: a feeling. Yet, deep down, I knew better. Something about this place wasn’t right.