The rain had stopped by evening, leaving the London streets glistening under the orange streetlights. Inside her hotel suite,
Anabelle sat by the wide window, a cup of warm tea resting on the table beside her laptop. The city stretched far below—busy, bright, and restless. But inside, the room was quiet.
Her phone buzzed softly on the table. She glanced at the screen and froze for a moment. The message was from Fred.
“I heard you’re in London. Still avoiding dinner with old friends?”
A faint smile tugged at her lips. She hadn’t spoken to him properly in months—not since their last short exchange about work. He always knew how to sound casual, even when his words carried a deeper meaning.
Her fingers hovered over the screen before she typed back, “Only avoiding bad company. But if you
