There were only thirty minutes left before my appointment with Chase, and I already knew this was going to feel strange no matter how it went. Delilah being wary of him made sense, and honestly, Ivy's track record with men did not help his case at all. Either she had the worst luck imaginable, or the universe had a personal vendetta against her happiness. Probably a little of both.

Chase's waiting area was small but clean, modern in a way that felt intentional rather than cold. The walls were painted in soft neutral colors, somewhere between beige and light gray, and there were framed abstract prints that looked expensive without actually saying anything. A low coffee table sat in the center with neatly stacked magazines about mental health, productivity, and relationships. A single plant rested near the window, clearly well cared for.

I took a seat and pulled my phone out, dialing Nala while I still had time. She picked up after two rings, and I could hear the familiar sounds of dinner back at the penthouse. Forks clinked against plates, voices overlapped faintly, and someone laughed in the background.

"Hey," I said quietly. "Nala, I'm at Chase's office."

"That's good," she replied calmly. "So what's the plan, huh?"

"I honestly don't know," I admitted. "I thought you might give me some ideas."

She hummed thoughtfully. "Alright, then fake having social anxiety or something like that. Say you need help sorting it out."

"And then what?" I asked.

"Then you pivot," she said. "You ask about his life. Maybe something casual like whether he has someone special."

"That sounds suspicious," I said. "I'm not exactly subtle."

"True," she said. "I also checked him out myself. He looks respectable. Good education, stable career, probably well off. No red flags on paper."

"Which is what worries Delilah," I said. "Red flags never show up on paper."

"That might be motherly paranoia," Nala replied. "Anyway, I trust you. You work corporate. You know how to talk without saying much."

"Silver tongue, huh?" I said.

"Exactly," she replied. "Use it."

I chuckled softly. "By the way, how are things with Anotta? Still committed to Project Phoenix?"

"She is," Nala said confidently. "The deal is sealed. Whether she likes it or not, Phoenix is happening. Once it launches in one of the Nuppia stores, the press will eat it up."

"That's the spirit," I said.

"I won't keep you," she added. "But don't come home starving. Eat something."

"I'm already starving," I said. "Save me a plate."

From somewhere nearby, Tessa's voice cut in loudly. "You can eat my ass, Mr. Marlowe."

I shook my head with a smile and ended the call. Alright. Fake anxiety. Talk carefully. Learn what I could without pushing too hard. I had done worse things with less preparation.

The door to Chase's office opened, and a woman stepped out, smiling politely as she waved back inside. A moment later, footsteps approached, and a man leaned into the waiting area.

"Mr. Marlowe?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied as I stood up.

"You can come in."

Chase Bellings looked different in person than he did in the interviews I had watched. His buzzcut was fresh, his jaw a little softer than I expected, and his posture relaxed but professional. He did not look threatening. He also did not look harmless. He looked competent, which was worse.

I followed him into his office and closed the door behind me. The room was larger than the waiting area but still cozy. A wooden desk sat near the window, neatly organized. Two couches faced each other near the center with a small table between them. There were shelves filled with books on psychology, neuroscience, and behavioral studies. Everything felt intentional and calm.

Chase moved behind his desk and gestured toward the couch. I sat down, removed my jacket, and placed it beside me. My body shifted slightly as I tried to settle into the space, forcing myself to look at least a little uncomfortable.

"Mr. Marlowe," he said with a professional smile. "Welcome."

"Thanks," I replied.

"So," he continued, folding his hands together. "What brings you in today?"

I hesitated just enough to sell it. "I've been dealing with anxiety," I said. "Mostly social."

He nodded slowly. "Can you tell me what that looks like for you?"

"It's worse in groups," I said. "Especially around people I don't know well. I overthink what I say. I get tense. Sometimes I avoid situations altogether."

"That must be frustrating," he said.

"It is," I replied. "It feels like my brain won't shut up."

"When did you start noticing this?" he asked.

I leaned back slightly, rubbing my hands together. "A few years ago. It got worse after some personal stuff."

"Relationships?" he asked gently.

"Partly," I said. "But also work. Expectations pile up."

He nodded again. "Do you experience physical symptoms?"

"Yeah," I said. "Tight chest, restless hands, trouble focusing."

"Do you ever feel judged?" he asked.

"All the time," I replied smoothly. "Especially by women."

He made a small note on his tablet. "That's interesting. Can you elaborate?"

"I feel like I can't talk to them properly," I said. "I freeze up."

"And do you have someone in your life right now?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No. I don't have anyone."

That was the most bullshit lie I had told in a long time.

He studied me briefly before speaking again. "You mentioned earlier that you struggle in social settings. Does that extend to one-on-one interactions?"

"Sometimes," I said. "Depends on the person."

He leaned back slightly. "And how does that make you feel?"

"Lonely," I said, choosing the word carefully.

He nodded slowly. "Loneliness often feeds anxiety. But let's focus on you. This session is about your experiences."

I took the opening anyway. "What about you?" I asked casually. "You seem comfortable with people. Do you have someone in your life?"

He smiled politely. "I do, but we are here to talk about you, Mr. Marlowe. After all, you paid for this session."

Fair enough. Still, he had confirmed something.

"I actually saw you the other day," I said. "At a coffee shop."

"Yes," he replied. "I do enjoy working outside the office occasionally."

"My friend recognized you," I continued. "That's how I booked the appointment."

"I'm glad they recommended me," he said. "Was your friend a patient of mine?"

"I don't know," I said.

He smiled. "Even if they were, I wouldn't say. Ethics matter."

"I figured," I said. "You were with someone that day. A woman."

He chuckled lightly. "She is a friend."

"I assumed she was someone special," I said. "She's beautiful. You're a lucky man."

"She is just a friend," he said calmly. "Now, let's return to your anxiety."

I nodded. I had pushed enough.

For the rest of the session, he asked about coping mechanisms, past stressors, and my habits. I answered convincingly, blending truth with fiction. He suggested breathing techniques, journaling, and gradual exposure to social settings. He did not seem suspicious. If anything, he seemed genuinely interested in helping.

Eventually, he checked the time. "We're just about done for today."

"That went fast," I said. "Wow. Didn't even realise how the time passed."

"Sessions often do," he replied. "Would you like to schedule another?"

"Yes," I said. "I think that would help with my anxiety."

Lies, lies, lies. But to get him to talk about Ivy, I had to twist the truth.

He smiled. "Good. I'll see you next time, Mr. Marlowe."

"Thank you," I said as I stood up.

We shook hands, and I left the office feeling conflicted. He did not seem like a bad man. He also did not seem romantically involved with Ivy, at least not openly.

As I stepped back into the hallway, I exhaled slowly. This was not over. But for now, I had learned enough to keep watching.

It could have gone worse.

I stepped into the elevator and hit zero, leaning back as it began its slow descent.

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw a photo from Cora.

Esme.

She was asleep, tangled up with the oversized teddy bear I'd bought her, one leg thrown over it like it was made for her. The thing was completely crushed beneath her, her arms wrapped tight around it. She was wearing that same black tank top and hot pants—bare skin everywhere my eyes weren't supposed to linger, but did anyway. Even asleep, she looked unreal. Soft. Tempting. I exhaled through a faint laugh, shaking my head at myself.

The elevator doors slid open. I stepped out, still staring at the screen, a crooked smile pulling at my mouth before I finally locked the phone and slipped it away.

"This girl, I swear…" I muttered.

Another message came in from Cora. 'She loves it. Thank you, Evan.'

I left the building and headed for my car. 'No problem,' I texted. 'I'm glad she likes it.'

Now that it was over, I could finally go home and eat. I was starving.

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