I watched from across the street, unseen, unnoticed.
That was how I preferred it.
The café was small. Too ordinary for someone about to become a Blackwood. I'd chosen the location deliberately—not to intrude, but to observe. Power was useless without information.
Amara sat with her friend—Cassandra, according to the background report. Loyal. Sharp. Protective. A potential complication.
I didn't dislike her.
I disliked how easily she read Amara.
They laughed at something—soft, brief, real. The sound reached me even through glass and distance. It stirred something unfamiliar in my chest. Not jealousy.
Awareness.
Amara wasn't performing. With Cassandra, she was unguarded. The tension I'd seen in my office had loosened. Her shoulders relaxed. Her eyes softened.
So that was who she was when she wasn't negotiating her future.
I took a slow sip of my coffee, untouched by sugar, and studied her like I would any volatile asset.
Except she wasn't an asset.
That was the problem.
Cassandra said something sharp—Amara stiffened, then reached into her bag. She placed the black card on the table.
My card.
I leaned back slightly.
Cassandra's reaction was immediate—surprise, suspicion, calculation. Good. Amara needed someone like that near her. Someone who questioned me.
Amara spoke then—her mouth forming words I couldn't hear, but her expression said enough.
She wasn't grateful.
She wasn't dazzled.
She was conflicted.
A rare thing—being resented and respected at once.
When Cassandra slid the card back toward her and took Amara's hand, something in my jaw tightened.
Not ownership.
Responsibility.
I hadn't expected that.
I checked my watch. Security had already mapped the stores they'd visit next. I hadn't ordered surveillance.
Yet here I was.
Watching her stand, adjusting her bag, sunlight catching her hair.
She looked… strong.
Too strong for someone being forced into a corner.
Good.
A weak woman would have bored me. Broken too easily.
As they walked away, Cassandra glanced around—sharp eyes scanning the street. For a brief moment, her gaze passed over me.
I didn't move.
Didn't blink.
If she saw me, she gave no sign.
I rose only after Amara disappeared into the crowd.
This was not obsession, I told myself.
It was foresight.
Preparation.
Still, as I returned to my car, one thought followed me—persistent and unwelcome.
If Amara learned how closely I was already watching…
She wouldn't thank me.
And somehow, that mattered more than it should have.