My pulse kicks up as I open it.
The cafe, the florist, the flat above it. Tight margins. Her mum’s health, hospital visits, prescriptions. But one line stands out like a beacon—no marriage certificate. No divorce records.
She lied.
I reread it. Twice.
Relief hits first. Then something darker. Why lie? To push me away? Test me? Or just to see how I’d react?
My fingers tighten around the glass, the sharp scent of whiskey cutting through the air as my chest loosens. I pace back toward the window, the city lights below glinting like broken glass. Lila was always good at keeping me on my toes.
But this? This was a calculated move.
If she wants to play games, I’ll play along.
I down the rest of my drink, my thoughts swirling, half-formed plans already taking shape in my mind.
I grab my phone and dial Claire. She answers on the first ring.
“Mr Ashcroft?”
“I need a delivery sent to Lila Ng at the cafe,” I say, my voice calm, deliberate. “A gift set. Two coffee mugs, Mr and Mrs”
Claire pauses. “Would you like a note attached?”
A slow smile spreads across my face. Perfect.
“‘For you and …him. I hope he likes matcha.’”
“Understood. I’ll arrange it for tomorrow.”
“Good, Claire?” I pause, my grip tightening on the phone. “Increase the offer by 10%. I want it on her desk by noon.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up, slipping the phone back into my pocket as a slow smile spreads across my face.
She thinks she’s in control. But I always win.
Still… a flicker of doubt creeps in, sharp and unwelcome.
What if she doesn’t bite?
What if she sees right through it and walks away for good?
I shove the thought aside. No. She won’t. She’s too proud, too stubborn, too curious not to react and maybe that’s the point.
Maybe I want her to react.
I glance at the window again, watching the city lights blur into amber smears against the glass. Whatever this is between us, it’s not over. Not even close.
Tomorrow, the game changes.
***
I go back to the cafe again.
Twice in one day. Pathetic, really.
