Terms of my heart

The restaurant glowed with warm light, tucked into a quiet part of town that didn't scream luxury-but whispered it. Jesse had chosen it deliberately. It felt like neutral ground, far from boardrooms and betrayal.

Alina stepped in, dressed in sleek black. Simple, powerful. He stood to greet her, unsure if she'd hug him. She didn't.

"You said 'dinner to talk,'" she said, lips barely curved. "But this place is too calm for bad news."

He smirked. "Maybe I wanted us to remember how to breathe."

She sat slowly. "Fine. Let's breathe."

Over drinks and slow courses, their guard lowered in bits. He told a dumb story from his street days; she nearly choked laughing. She teased him about the way he still hated wine. For a moment, they weren't CEO and contract husband. They were two people who had survived too much together.

Then karaoke started.

He nudged her. "You won't do it."

She scoffed. "I ran a company through three lawsuits. I can survive one off-key song."

She took the mic. 

The room quieted. Her voice wasn't perfect-but it was raw, beautiful, unexpectedly real. Jesse didn't realize he was smiling until she looked at him mid-verse. Like they were alone.

Back at the table, breathless, she sipped water. "Your turn."

He waved it off. "Not tonight. I've got a different performance planned."

She raised a brow. "Is this the part where you tell me what's really going on?"

He nodded, serious now. "I've been digging. Damian's working with someone inside Virella. I have names. I'm setting a trap."

Her face went still. "You're doing this behind my back?"

"I'm doing it for you," he said. "Because you keep forgetting you don't have to fight alone."

She stared at him.

---

Alina stood by the balcony of her apartment, arms folded tightly across her chest as the city lights flickered below. The night air was cool, yet her skin burned with thoughts she couldn't shake.

Dinner with Jesse had done something to her-peeled back layers she had wrapped too tightly. His laugh. His voice. The quiet ache in his eyes when he said he was setting a trap. Not for glory. Not for credit. For her.

She didn't know if that made it better or worse.

She touched the railing, gripping it as if it could answer the questions in her head. *Why does he still care? Why do I?*

In the distance, a siren wailed and faded. She hadn't kissed him tonight. She hadn't had to. The silence between them had said enough.

Her phone buzzed on the table behind her. One new message.

*Jesse*: *It's time. Lock your doors. Don't call anyone. I'll finish this.*

She stared at the words. Her breath caught.

Then she turned and walked inside.

---

*Virella Group - 2:38 AM*

Jesse moved through the underground garage like a ghost.

He wore black, not for drama-but for quiet. For precision.