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And for now, I let it go.

Chapter Four

Hayden

Unthought Known

Pearl Jam

The day doesn’t start different from any other day.That’s the point.Routine exists for a reason.Even though the building has a private gym, I run outside.Seven miles.Same loop.Down toward the lake and back, the skyline cutting clean lines against the early morning light.

The air is sharp enough to wake everything up without crossing into discomfort, and the rhythm of it, the steady pace, the repetition, settles into something familiar within the first mile.

I don’t run for the exercise.I’m running to escape the demons in my head.They’re always there in the background, usually pushed back far enough that they don’t interfere, but seeing Vanessa has stirred some of them loose.

Music filters through my headphones in an attempt to quiet the noise.It’s the latest tracks from the studio, and I grit my teeth as I listen.Mikey’s drumming is still pushing too hard, still trying to outrun something instead of sitting in it.I break the track down piece by piece as I move, adjusting the tempo in my head, tightening what’s loose, stripping back what’s unnecessary.Everything can be refined.Everything can be better.

By the time I make it back to my apartment, my breathing has evened out.My body has settled.My mind hasn’t.The rest of the morning unfolds the way it always does.Mostly.I take a much-needed shower.I order groceries for the week that are specific and consistent enough to prep meals without having to think about them later.The good coffee, because that’s a must.I don’t use cream, but she does, and I find myself adding a small carton.Just in case.

I sit with my laptop open at the counter.I track the market out of habit, watching numbers shift, lines rise and fall in patterns I usually read without effort.I’ve more than quadrupled my earnings with the band in the market, but today, they don’t hold my attention for long.

I close the cover sooner than I should.The apartment seems unusually quiet.Everything is in its place.Nothing is out of line.No unexpected variables pressing in on the edges.It should be enough.Today it’s not.

I turn on the huge flat-screen television that’s mounted on the only solid wall in the living room and I start a movie.It runs for twenty minutes before I shut it off, the screen going dark without ceremony.Not because it’s bad.But because I haven’t been watching it.I’ve paced the length of the room the entire time, my mind stuck on the same questions.

The hours pass without friction, but without purpose too.Each task finished, each space returning to stillness, leaving just enough room for something else to settle in.Not chaos.Nothing that uncontrolled.Just a quiet, persistent awareness that doesn’t belong to the rest of the day.

By late afternoon, it sharpens into something more defined.It’s not distraction.It’s a decision.Waiting isn’t going to give me anything useful.Action will.And I know now what I’m going to do.I don’t rush it.There’s no need.

By the time the light outside shifts into evening, I’m already moving.The closet is organized the same way everything else in my life is; intentional with every piece placed where it belongs.

I slide into a pair of dark Tom Ford slacks.Button up a crisp white shirt, tucking it into the pants before securing the simple leather belt at my waist.Cuff links attached at my wrist; silver, simple, understated.No tie.Not tonight.I slip my feet into black Gucci loafers.And last, I pick out a watch, my black Daytona Rolex, and secure it to my wrist, the familiar weight settling into place.

I don’t linger in front of the mirror.There’s nothing to adjust.Everything is already where it should be.The elevator ride down to the parking garage is quiet, the kind of silence most people would feel the need to interrupt.I let it remain exactly as it is, watching the numbers descend in their steady, predictable sequence.

The car responds the way it always does, the engine smooth, movement precise, every shift controlled without effort.I leave the lake behind as I drive west, moving into the denser grid of the city.Traffic moves in clean lines, lights changing on time, everything operating within a system designed to hold it together.It’s the kind of structure I understand.And tonight, it leads me back to the same place.

I circle the block once before a spot opens and I glide into it with efficient precision.I sit for only a moment before exiting my car and stroll, because I’m not in a rush, to the entrance of Gild.A doorman greets me with a nod and addresses me as Mr.Sloane as his grips onto the rich, gold handle to pull the door open for me.

Inside, the atmosphere settles over me the moment I cross the threshold.It’s no different than last night.It’s low lighting, muted conversations, music that serves its purpose, all bleeding into the room.It’s all a careful and perfect balance of presence and restraint.The Gild doesn’t rely on excess.It doesn’t need to.

There’s a seat free at the end of the bar that I take.The bartender slides three fingers of amber liquid in front of me without asking, and I nod in thanks.Yes, I’m that predictable.I don’t scan the room.I’m not searching for her.If she’s here, I’ll see.If she’s not, I’ll still make sure I get what I came here for.

“Two nights in a row.”His British accent is subtle.His voice slides in beside me, smooth and unhurried, carrying just enough curiosity to be intentional.I take a measured sip before turning.Oliver Hastings leans against the bar like he’s part of it, like the space was built around him instead of the other way around.

There’s nothing overt about him.No need for it.Control exudes from him in the way he watches, the way he listens, the way nothing in this room happens without his awareness brushing against it first.

“Oliver.”I twist on the stool as I turn to face him, setting my glass down on the bar.

Oliver doesn’t deal in questions that don’t need asking.“You don’t tend to return this quickly.”And is exactly why what he says isn’t framed as one.

“I have a question.”

Oliver exhales softly, something almost like a quiet chuckle beneath it.“Of course you do.”

I let the weight of that sit for a second, turning the glass lightly between my fingers, lifting my eyes to meet his steel gray gaze.“There was a woman here last night.”

A quiet shift of interest.Subtle, but it’s there as his eyes narrow, just as slight as the sarcasm in his response.“There were many women here last night.”