Chapter 3 The Man in the Photo

(Malia's POV)

The meeting was arranged faster than I expected.

By the next morning, Ivy had already sent me a location, a time, and strict instructions on what to wear.

"Be neutral. No bold colors. No cleavage," she said over the phone as I stood in front of the mirror. "He likes clean, sharp, and classy."

"I'm not trying to seduce Mr. Andrew," I muttered, adjusting the sleeves of the cream blouse Ivy had loaned me.

"No, but first impressions matter. He's old money. Very detail-oriented. He'll know if you're faking confidence."

"Isn't that the whole point of this job?" I said dryly. "Faking?"

She paused. "There's a difference between faking and performing. Go in there like you belong in the room."

I took a deep breath and looked at my reflection again. Hair pinned up neatly, light makeup, black pencil skirt, neutral lipstick. I looked... presentable. Like someone who had control. Not like someone who'd cried herself to sleep two nights in a row.

My heart pounded.

I was about to meet a man who wanted to pay me to deceive another man. That thought alone should have made me run, but instead, I stood straighter.

I wasn't doing this out of hate.

I was doing this because I had nothing

The café was upscale and quiet - the kind of place where the air smelled faintly of imported coffee beans and money. I spotted him immediately. He sat at the corner table, wearing a tailored gray suit and a crisp white shirt. No tie. Silver cufflinks. A black leather watch.

Mr. Andrew looked like someone who knew what power tasted like.

He was older - maybe in his late fifties - with sharp features, a salt-and-pepper beard, and eyes that gave away nothing. He didn't smile when I walked in. He simply gestured to the seat across from him with two fingers.

I sat, folding my hands in my lap.

"You're punctual," he said without looking up from his tablet. His voice was calm and polished. Like he'd been trained to sound important.

"Ivy said you value time," I replied.

He set the tablet down and looked at me. "She also said you're smart, disciplined, and recently heartbroken."

I tensed slightly. "I didn't know heartbreak was a job qualification."

"It's not," he said. "But it's useful. Pain changes people. It sharpens them. Breaks the illusion of loyalty and makes room for precision."

I didn't respond.

He reached into his briefcase and slid a folder across the table.

"Read," he instructed.

I opened it.

Inside was a photo. High-resolution. Candid. Taken from a distance, but clear enough to make my breath catch.

He was tall, mid-thirties at most. Dressed in black slacks and a crisp dark button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. No tie. He wasn't posing - just standing near a car, his head slightly turned, jaw sharp, eyes focused on something out of frame.

His presence leapt off the page. There was something cold in the set of his mouth, something calculating in the way he stood - shoulders square, like he didn't fear the world. No smile. No softness.

"Kieth Williams," Mr. Andrew said. "CEO of Apex Holdings. Private investor. Controls six subsidiaries and majority shares in two international banks. He made his first million at twenty-two and hasn't stopped since."

I stared at the image. "He looks... intense."

"He is. And that's the problem."

I looked up. "What do you mean?"

"He's unpredictable. Untouchable. A wild card. His influence is growing faster than expected, and certain parties are uncomfortable with his rise."

"Certain parties?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he continued.

"You don't need to know all the names. Just the task. You're to study him. Learn his routines. Find the cracks."

"And then what?"

"You break him," he said simply.

I looked back at the photo. "How?"

"Emotionally. Intellectually. Whatever it takes."

"Why me?"

Mr. Andrew leaned back, studying me. "You're educated. Observant. You know how to disappear in plain sight. You've learned how to survive without screaming. That's a rare skill. You won't make obvious mistakes."

I swallowed. "I'm not a professional."

"No, but you're desperate," he said without blinking. "Desperation makes people efficient."

I looked down at the photo again. "You want me to make him fall for me?"

"Not necessarily. You just need to get close enough that he lets his guard down. What happens after that is up to you - and him."

"And what do I get out of this?"

"A fresh start," he said. "Enough money to build a new life. More if you're successful."

I was quiet for a long time. The café buzzed softly in the background. Someone laughed at the far end. A spoon clinked against a ceramic cup. Normal life continued around us, unaware that my own was about to shift again.

"He doesn't trust people," Mr. Andrew added. "He won't let anyone in easily. But he's still human. Everyone has an ache. A secret. A memory that haunts them."

I set the folder down. "How do I begin?"

"You'll be planted at an event next weekend," he said. "A private charity gala hosted by one of his company's board members. You'll be introduced as a consultant in fundraising and public relations. It's enough to get you into the room. From there, you improvise."

"And if he doesn't talk to me?"

"He will," Mr. Andrew said with quiet certainty. "He doesn't ignore new puzzles. He solves them."

⸻

Back at Ivy's apartment, I laid the photo on the table and stared at it for hours.

This man. This stranger. He had no idea what was coming.

But neither did I.

Because the more I looked at that picture, the more I felt a strange pull. Curiosity.

He didn't look like a monster. He didn't look broken either. But he didn't look whole.

He looked... restrained. Tightly wound. Like someone who spent too long learning how to be feared instead of loved.

I understood that.

I became anxious.

What if I was the one who got too close?

What if this job didn't just change his life - but mine?

⸻

The night before the event, I couldn't sleep.

My nerves were in knots, my heart restless. Ivy had helped me pick out the perfect dress - sleek, black, elegant but not flashy. My hair was curled softly at the ends, makeup subtle but defined.

I barely recognized myself in the mirror.

"You look like a woman on a mission," Ivy said as she handed me a small clutch.

"I look like a woman about to lie to a billionaire," I murmured.

"Same thing," she said with a wink.

As the car pulled up to the venue, my hands clenched tightly around the bag in my lap.

The building was grand. Marble columns. A glass ceiling. A red carpet lined the front entrance. Cameras flashed in the distance. Soft classical music drifted from inside.

I stepped out, took a breath, and walked toward the doors.

Inside, everything sparkled. Crystal chandeliers. Champagne glasses. Conversations in hushed, expensive tones. I blended in as best I could, scanning the room.

Then I saw him.

Across the room. Standing near the balcony.

He was talking to someone, his expression unreadable. His eyes swept the room lazily - until they landed on me.

Just for a second.

Our eyes locked.

My heart skipped.

His gaze lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Then he looked away.

He didn't smile.

But he noticed me.

And that was enough.