"I know who you are, Stan. Or at least, I know enough." Sophie paused, choosing her next words with the kind of care that suggested she’d been thinking about them for longer than just this car ride. "A man who gives away an entire building without asking for anything in return is not the same man that post describes. Those two people can’t exist in the same body."

Stan felt something loosen in his chest, a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.

He wasn’t the type to need validation. He’d told himself, repeatedly, that the forum gossip didn’t matter, that it would blow over, that the truth was irrelevant as long as the money kept flowing. And all of that was accurate. But hearing Sophie say I know, simply, directly, without drama, landed somewhere unexpected. Somewhere that had nothing to do with rebates or favorability counters.

"People talk," he said, his voice quieter now. "I can’t control that."

"No. You can’t." Sophie shifted in her seat, turning her body slightly toward his. "But you can control who you listen to. And you shouldn’t be listening to any of them."

Her hand found his forearm and rested there, light, warm, deliberate. Her fingers teased his tracing soft lines over his hand...

At this point, Stan new she’ve fallen for him completely, but even if there’s a chance he’s wrong, he didn’t care anyway after all he’s not in love with her anyway...

"The people writing those comments don’t know you. They’ve never spoken to you. They’ve never received anything from you. They’re building a version of you out of nothing, out of jealousy and boredom and whatever makes people feel better about their own lives." Her fingers tightened slightly on his arm. "I’ve actually met you. I’ll trust my own judgment over a forum post."

Stan looked at her.

The morning light was catching the edges of her hair, turning the dark strands faintly gold. Her eyes were steady and clear. There was no performance in her expression, no flirtation, no calculation. Just a woman telling a man, quietly and without pretense, that she believed him.

Something shifted between them.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a lightning bolt. It was more like a door opening, slowly, gently, without a sound, letting warmth spill into a room that had been closed for a long time.

Sophie exhaled softly, and without quite deciding to do it, she leaned into him. Her head came to rest against his chest, her cheek settling against the fabric of his jacket. Her eyes drifted half-closed.

Stan went very still for a moment.

Then, slowly, his arm came down from the back of the seat and settled around her shoulders. Light. Natural. As if it had always been there.

The taxi hummed along through the city streets. The driver, glancing once in the rearview mirror, had the good sense to say nothing and turn the radio down a notch.

They stayed like that for a while, Sophie’s head against his chest, Stan’s arm around her, the two of them swaying gently with the rhythm of the car. Her breathing slowed. His heartbeat, which had been running slightly fast since she’d leaned into him, gradually steadied. The warmth between them was quiet, unhurried, the kind of closeness that doesn’t need to announce itself.

"You smell nice," Sophie murmured against his jacket.

"It’s the smell of money," Stan said, deadpan.

Sophie laughed, a real laugh, soft and surprised, muffled against his chest. Her shoulders shook with it. She tilted her face up just enough to give him a look that was equal parts amusement and reproach.

"You’re terrible."

"I’ve been told."

She settled back against him, still smiling, and closed her eyes.

’Don’t fall in love,’ Stan reminded himself, staring out the window at the passing skyline. ’Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love.’

The mantra was getting harder to maintain, but he won’t fall...

A few minutes into the ride, Stan’s gaze drifted to the taxi’s side mirror, an idle, habitual glance at the traffic behind them.

A red Ferrari was sitting two car-lengths back.

Stan watched it for a few seconds. Changed lanes mentally. Tracked the Ferrari’s position. It adjusted. Maintained its distance. Didn’t pass, didn’t fall back. Just, followed.

The dyed-white hair behind the windshield was unmistakable.

’Felix Lawn.’

Stan’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t tense, didn’t sit up, didn’t alert Sophie. He simply noted the Ferrari’s position the way a man notes the weather, relevant information, filed for later use.

’So he couldn’t take no for an answer.’

Sophie had refused him politely, publicly, and definitively. And Felix had responded by tailing them through city traffic like a second-rate private investigator in a car that cost more than most apartments.

Stan almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

He glanced down at Sophie, still resting against his chest, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even. She looked peaceful. Content. Entirely unaware that the man she’d just turned down was currently burning premium gasoline to follow her across town.

Stan looked back at the side mirror. The Ferrari was still there. Patient. Persistent. Pathetic.

’Fine,’ he thought, letting his arm settle a fraction more firmly around Sophie’s shoulders. ’Follow all you want, Felix. Enjoy the view.’

He turned his gaze back to the road ahead and let the city carry them forward.

The taxi pulled up to the entrance of the shopping center just as the morning crowd was starting to thicken. Stan paid the driver, stepped out, and held the door for Sophie.

The first thing he noticed was the Ferrari.

It was parked in the most conspicuous spot in the entire lot, angled just so, positioned directly in the sightline of anyone walking through the main entrance, gleaming like a showroom piece that had wandered outdoors by accident. A small cluster of girls were already posing beside it, phones raised, giggling as they angled for the best shot of the prancing horse logo.

Felix had guessed their destination from the direction of the taxi and overtaken them somewhere along the route. He was already inside.

Stan filed the information away without comment.