The Heart System Chapter 541

The elevator doors parted with a gentle chime, operated by a staff member, unveiling the restaurant enveloped in a hushed, somewhat spooky tranquility. Though not utterly deserted, it felt nearly so, with each motion, glass clink, or hushed chat echoing farther than expected. Gentle tunes floated across the room, perhaps from the 1950s or 1960s, the sort aiming to evoke a serene, eternal vibe.

Table eighteen waited by the window, vacant. No sign of Carrie. No Jack. Perfect. I'd arrived ahead of schedule.

"Mr. Marlowe?" A waiter drew near, stance rigid, tone courteous yet restrained. "This way, sir. Your table awaits."

"Thanks."

I trailed after him, footsteps firm though my thoughts raced wildly. The chair emitted a soft groan as I settled in. I reclined a bit, surveying the area from force of habit rather than need.

Ten past nine. A drizzle had begun en route, faint enough to dismiss yet steady enough to glaze the roads with a slick, mirroring layer. From the window next to me, city glows smeared gently on the pane, raindrops elongating them into vibrant trails.

I breathed out deliberately and placed my arm on the table, fingers rapping once then halting.

Jack Kuinn.

That name alone clenched my jaw. The man who treated blackmail like playtime. The one aiming to trap Nala, force her into unwanted choices. I wouldn't allow it. Not today. Not any day.

"Damn cunt..." I whispered to myself.

"Sir?" A waitress neared, voice cautious. "Care to order something while waiting?"

"Water," I replied, skipping the menu. "Just water."

"Right away, sir."

Her heels tapped lightly on the gleaming floor as she departed. I bent forward a touch, elbows now on the table, gaze returning to the window.

Raindrops trailed sluggishly down the glass. Beyond, a pair dashed by sharing an umbrella, shapes merging hazily in the streetlamp's glow. Briefly, I gazed too intently, thoughts wandering astray.

Silk.

Her image surged back—pallid skin, crimson eyes, that gaze implying familiarity, as if I'd overlooked something vital.

I gritted my teeth, shoving the notion aside.

Not now.

The waitress came back bearing a water glass, placing it softly before me. "Here you go, sir."

"Thanks."

I sipped, the chill steadying me somewhat. As I set the glass down, it caught my eye.

Eyes.

Scattered patrons in the restaurant eyed me. Not blatant stares, but noticeable. A man by the bar. A solo woman against the distant wall. Even folks at a corner table. Fleeting looks, darting away when caught.

Recognition.

Of course... I'd dined here previously. With Carrie.

"Getting famous, eh?"

I sat up straighter, shoulders squared, projecting utmost belonging. If observed, so be it.

I glanced at my phone's time.

Nine fifteen.

Plenty early.

My fingers tapped the glass once, then stilled.

Jack Kuinn...

How did he manage it? A camera in Nala’s office, positioned flawlessly to capture all. No fluke. Pure calculation. Exactness. Help from others, or skills beyond his profile?

I had to determine which.

To handle him right, blindness wasn't an option.

A soft ding echoed from the distant elevator. My head snapped up.

Doors parted. Two forms emerged.

Carrie first.

My chest constricted involuntarily.

She appeared... poised. Excessively so. As if she'd donned her signature serene, masterful facade, masking true emotions. Back straight, chin raised subtly, heels striking the floor with assured softness. Hair impeccable, attire crisp, unshakable by any turmoil.

But I saw through it.

Then the next figure followed her.

Jack Kuinn.

I squinted faintly, assessing him.

Not the typical image. Slender build, nearly fragile, with refined features veering toward beauty over rugged maleness. Hair meticulously arranged, draping to accent his face seemingly casually yet deliberately. Attire tailored, pristine, embracing a gentle style without excess. An androgynous air clung to him, blurring boundaries enough to draw double-takes.

A femboy, yes, but far from the innocuous stereotype.

Confidence oozed from his every movement, silent and masterful. He radiated menace without putting on a show.

His eyes scanned the room in a flash, sharp and analytical, absorbing it all before locking onto me.

Then came his smile.

It held no width, and warmth was nowhere in sight. Just a subtle curve revealing he knew exactly who I was and had awaited this very instant.

Carrie tracked his stare, and for an instant, our gazes collided.

Something flickered there, a hidden spark under her poised mask, unseen by anyone else around. It vanished in a blink, swapped for that familiar serene, impenetrable expression.

They advanced toward me without a second thought, steps firm and perfectly matched, as though this encounter was fated long before I took my seat.

I let out a slow breath, fingers tightening briefly on the glass before releasing. I sat up straight in my chair, rolled my shoulders back, and held my stare straight ahead.

"Alright," I whispered to myself, voice low and even.

Here goes nothing.