Chapter 48

**Torin POV**

Three weeks has passed since our temporary move from the villa.

And Orian has officially revoked my access from everything: Zenith's portal, the interphase, the entire system. Which obviously makes sense. But it doesn't bother me in the slightest. True power is perception; it lies in the subtle art of allowing others to believe that they're in possession of it.

After a tedium of on-call meetings, meandering through the indoors. I notice that I haven't seen her. Pocketing my phone, I check her room; she's not there, other rooms; she's not there. Lounge and kitchen; she's not there. I go outside to the main terrace; I pivot to leave until I catch a glimpse of movement. I straighten out and at the top of the elevated wooden level, ahead of the jacuzzi, there she is.

I saunter over to her, watching her doing reps of push-ups, looking like someone who's in constant battle with their demons. I march up the short staircase and I plop down on the top step, a few paces from her.

"If you're trying to impress me. Consider me impressed."

She disregards my existence.

"Could you stop that for a second?"

She pounds an angered fist into the wood and pushes herself upright, sweaty and breathing hard from the self-torturing exertion.

I grapple for ideas. "How about we... take the day out?"

She looks around pointedly. "We're already in Germany. I think had enough escapades for the month."

Frustration bites at the control over my faculties . "I mean, we should do something...normal. A recreational activity. Something of that calibre, one that resembles the wonderful monotony of a regular person's day."

She frowns at me like I threw an insult. "Just because you have money, it doesn't make you some kind of superior species."

"For fuck's sake, I'm trying to do something nice."

"I don't want you to."

I look back into her eyes. They're dimmer than before. Something's missing in them.

I restrain my irritation. "I want to. Just let me do it. Come, what did you used to do for fun before..." a smile spreads across my face. "Before you came into my life. Because if I'm recalling correctly, it was an ambitious investigator that sought us out."

A devoid look devours the last of the light in her eyes. "My version of fun was working on my next case. There's an endless list of dirty public figureheads and business moguls like yourself. And in my free time, I'd be hunting for evidence against Zenith, chasing every lead down, even though James advised me against it." She breaks into a scornful smile. "I really should've listened."

"So basically you didn't have a life?"

"My job was my life," she retorts. Then she looks away momentarily. Strains of sunlight lance through the iron-grey sky, piercing the gloom. "I didn't go out much. But I was with Calum all the time." Though she doesn't smile. A gleam rekindles in her gaze. "He was the only one who could pull me from a case and we'd—"

"I'm sorry," I blurt. With my hand, I permit it to rush through my hair, pushing it back. "I know you're having a nostalgic moment, but I really don't want to hear you talk about him. You know what we can talk about? Food."

"Okay, then I really don't want to be eating all that boojey food anymore."

I snap back, placing a hand over my wounded heart. "I'm sorry that gourmet food hand-prepared by world-class chefs is not good enough for you."

She rolls her eyes. "It's not that. I mean, it'd be nice to have something simple like home-made lasagna."

An idea sprouts. "Then you can make it yourself."

She frowns, then her face eases with contentment. "Fine. Do you have the ingredients?"

"I can order—I mean, we can go get it ourselves."

Intrigue frolics over delicate features, lengthening her lips into a half-hearted smile. "You sure you can handle something so monotonous?"

"Of course." I adjust the collar of my shirt buoyantly. "So where does one go to purchase such ingredients?"

Her face deadpans. "Boy, you better be joking."

***

"We really didn't need an entire military escort with us."

Amongst the series of matte-black SUVs, ours is in the centre, zooming through the streets of Berlin.

"It's protection. It's necessary."

"It's also a lot of attention." Her finger pokes the tinted window. "Look, you got people on the sidewalk stopping to take pictures. It's gonna look like some foreign dignitary or royal just rolled into Germany."

"They wouldn't be wrong to assume. You're my queen, and that makes you royalty."

She grimaces, faking small gagging sounds. "I think I just threw up in my mouth." Her face falls blank, and she looks away.

I smother a grin. In due course, the convoy pulls up to the kerbside. Her door opens first, followed by my own. The drivers remain in the vehicles, releasing a deluge of men. Two of them watch our rearguard and the rest move to secure the building of Kaufland Berlin-Mitte, which is a lot larger than I expected.

The inside of the supermarket is overcrowded, but our advent demands instant acknowledgment, torrents of people giving us a wide berth. Hadassah shoots me an annoyed look and we head to the bay of trollies.

She reaches for one of them. My arm snaps out in front of her.

"No." I take out my hand sanitizer from my back pocket, squiring a bit into my palm and rubbing it into my hands thoroughly. "Allow me."

I go for the bar hesitantly, repressing my revulsion. I take a hold of it and roll it out.

Hadassah looks at me with an amused expression. Not smiling, but amused.* I'll take it.*

Very much unaccustomed to the whole grocery shopping expedition—made worse that these are all German products, offering a broad assortment of choices that Hadassah figures out effortlessly. Fruits and vegetables are easy enough to identity. And she goes through the list of things she needs:

*Sweet Italian sausage. Doubt they have it.
Lean ground beef.
Onion.
Garlic cloves.
Tomatoes.
Tomato paste.
Sugar.
Basil leaves
Fennel seeds
Seasoning
Ground black pepper
Fresh parsley
12 lasagna noodles
Ricotta cheese
Eggs
Mozzarella cheese.
Parmesan cheese*

Halfway through acquiring the items on the list, all the staring tempts my anger, trying to goad my inner Orian.

"This is absolutely exhausting. I think I need to book a spa treatment after this."

She glares at me playfully. "You haven't even done anything?"

"Last time I checked, this trolley isn't pushing itself"—prying eyes capture my gaze, "—and I swear if one more person gawks at me."

"They probably just recognize you. Or maybe it has two do with the men in black behind us."

After what feels like hours, she finds what she needs, only to be met with another time-consuming obstacle. *A long ass queue.*

"Can't we just pay them to move?"

Hadassah casts a flabbergasted look at me. "Money doesn't solve all problems."

I smirk at her. "Let's test that theory."

I tell the guards to wait with her and I stride to the person in front of the line. A mother with two demonic children running around her like they're doing some kind of satanic ritual. I never pay with cash, but I usually keep some on me just in case. I pat myself down. And I draw out a thick wad of tied-up dollars.

Here's to hoping she understands English. I light up a smile. "Good day, ma'am," gesticulating exaggeratedly, I say, "I was wondering if I could purchase your spot in this ridiculously long queue." I hold up the money. "I'll give you a thousand dollars for it."

Wide-eyed, her eyes jump to the cash. She gives me a vigorous nod.

"Fantastic, I'm just going to go call my wife."

We make the transaction and I flag the idle three over.