Chapter 2 - The Question That Changed Everything
The first rule my father taught me about people was simple.
Never judge a person by the clothes they wear.
The second rule was more complicated.
Never ignore what the clothes reveal.
A torn sleeve meant someone was careless.
A perfectly pressed collar meant someone cared about appearances.
A missing button often meant someone had bigger problems than clothing.
And sometimes…
A custom suit meant someone was preparing for a battle.
That was Noah Moretti.
I knew it the moment I touched the fabric.
Men like him did not order handmade suits because they appreciated craftsmanship.
They ordered them because every detail mattered.
The shoulders had to look powerful.
The waist had to look controlled.
The fabric had to move when they moved.
A suit was not decoration.
It was a message.
And Noah Moretti was the kind of man who understood exactly what messages he wanted to send.
For the next two days, I tried to convince myself he was just another customer.
A difficult one.
A wealthy one.
A dangerous-looking one.
But still a customer.
It worked for approximately six hours.
Then I found the note.
It was tucked beneath the front door of my apartment when I came home after midnight.
I almost missed it.
The hallway light on the third floor had been broken for weeks, and the building manager kept promising to fix it “soon.”
Soon had become his favorite word.
I stepped over the cracked tile near my apartment entrance and reached for my keys.
That was when I saw the white envelope.
No name.
No address.
Just placed neatly beneath my door.
I stopped.
Every instinct I had told me not to touch it.
Unfortunately, curiosity had always been stronger than fear.
I picked it up.
The paper was expensive.
Heavy.
The kind of paper people used when they wanted something to feel important.
Inside was a single sentence.
A woman who measures dangerous men should learn when to keep her distance.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
My first emotion was not fear.
It was anger.
I hated being warned.
Especially by someone who did not have the courage to put their name on the warning.
I walked inside my apartment and locked the door.
Then I checked it again.
A habit I had developed after moving into the building alone.
My apartment was small.
A bedroom.
A narrow kitchen.
A living room where my father’s old chair sat beside the window because I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.
The place was not impressive.
But it was mine.
I put the note on the kitchen counter.
Then I made coffee.
Because that was what my father always did when life became complicated.
“Coffee first,” he used to say.
“Problems are easier when you’re holding something warm.”
I smiled at the memory.
Then I looked at the note again.
The smile disappeared.
The next morning, I arrived at the shop earlier than usual.
I told myself I wanted to finish Noah’s suit ahead of schedule.
That was only partially true.
The other reason was simple.
I wanted to be somewhere familiar.
The shop felt safer than my apartment.
The old wooden counter.
The sewing machines.
The smell of fabric.
Everything had a history.
Everything had a purpose.
At eight fifteen, the bell above the door rang.
I expected a customer.
Instead, Paulie walked in.
My hand stopped over the sewing machine.
The bodyguard looked exactly the same as yesterday.
Black jacket.
Serious expression.
The face of a man who rarely laughed and never explained himself.
“Good morning,” I said.
He nodded.
“Lyra.”
I looked behind him.
No Noah.
That surprised me.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
Paulie looked around the shop.
His eyes landed on the suit hanging near the back.
“You finished?”
“Almost.”
He nodded.
Then he placed a small envelope on the counter.
I stared at it.
“No.”
Paulie looked confused.
“No?”
“I already received one mysterious envelope this week.”
His expression changed slightly.
Not surprise.
Concern.
“What did it say?”
I studied him.
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t send it.”
The room became quiet.
I looked at the envelope.
Then back at him.
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
That answer bothered me more than if he had admitted it.
Because it meant someone else had been watching.
Someone else knew.
Someone else thought they had a reason to warn me.
Paulie lowered his voice.
“Show me.”
I hesitated.
Then I grabbed the note from the counter and handed it to him.
He read it.
His jaw tightened.
A small reaction.
But I noticed.
“What?”
He folded the paper.
“Nothing.”
“That was not a nothing face.”
Paulie looked at me.
For the first time since I met him, he looked less like a bodyguard and more like someone worried.
“You should be careful.”
I crossed my arms.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because you keep standing in front of things that can hurt you.”
“I’m a tailor.”
“No.”
His voice was calm.
“You’re someone who looked Noah Moretti in the eyes and told him no.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Because he was right.
But I didn’t understand why that mattered.
“He’s a customer.”
Paulie gave a quiet laugh.
Not amused.
Almost sad.
“Not everyone gets to call him that.”
Before I could answer, the bell rang again.
This time, I knew exactly who it was.
Noah.
He entered wearing a dark coat over a white shirt.
No bodyguard beside him.
No announcement.
Just Noah.
His eyes immediately found mine.
Then they moved to Paulie.
Something passed between them.
A silent conversation.
I noticed.
I noticed everything.
“What happened?” Noah asked.
Paulie handed him the note.
Noah read it.
The expression on his face did not change.
That was somehow worse.
A normal person would react.
Anger.
Confusion.
Fear.
Noah simply became still.
The kind of stillness that meant something dangerous was happening inside his mind.
“Where did you get this?” he asked me.
“Under my apartment door.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
His eyes lifted.
“You live alone?”
I stared at him.
“That is an inappropriate question.”
His jaw tightened.
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“It sounded exactly like what you meant.”
For a moment, I saw the man from two days ago.
The man who believed he could ask questions and receive answers.
Then something changed.
He stepped back slightly.
A small movement.
But I noticed.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology surprised me.
Not because it was perfect.
Because it was real.
Noah Moretti did not seem like a man who apologized often.
I walked toward the counter.
“You know who sent it?”
“No.”
“But you have an idea.”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
I sighed.
“Mr. Moretti—”
“Noah.”
I stopped.
He rarely sounded like he was asking.
This time, he was.
I looked at him.
“Noah.”
He nodded.
“Someone wants you uncomfortable.”
“I noticed.”
“They want you to think about me.”
I frowned.
“That’s a strange thing to say.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Why?”
His eyes met mine.
And for the first time, I saw something underneath the confidence.
Something human.
Concern.
“Because they know you made me interested.”
The words caught me completely off guard.
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because I didn’t know how else to react.
“Interested?”
“Yes.”
“You mean interested in my tailoring?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
The room became silent.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
And suddenly, the question I had ignored since Tuesday returned.
Why had Noah Moretti cared whether I had a boyfriend?
Why had my answer changed his mood?
Why did a man who owned half the city’s attention seem focused on one woman who spent her days repairing sleeves and replacing buttons?
I picked up my measuring tape.
“Stand on the platform.”
Noah blinked.
“What?”
“You came for a fitting.”
A faint smile appeared.
“You’re avoiding the conversation.”
“I’m working.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“Because it’s usually true.”
He stepped onto the platform.
I adjusted the collar of his shirt.
The distance between us became smaller.
Not uncomfortable.
Not exactly.
Just noticeable.
“You should be careful around me,” he said quietly.
I continued fixing the sleeve.
“That sounds like another warning.”
“It is.”
“From you?”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
His eyes lowered.
Because for the first time, Noah Moretti looked like he was choosing his words carefully.
Not because he was afraid.
Because he cared what happened after he said them.
“Because my enemies know how to hurt me.”
I waited.
Then he continued.
“They don’t attack me.”
A pause.
“They attack what gets close to me.”
The measuring tape stopped.
I looked at him.
“I’m not close to you.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“Not yet.”
I hated how calm he sounded.
I hated even more that a small part of me believed him.
Outside, the rain started again.
The same sound.
The same street.
The same little tailor shop.
But something had changed.
Noah Moretti had entered my life as a customer.
A man buying a suit.
A name on a receipt.
Nothing more.
Now someone was leaving threats at my door because of him.
And the most frightening part was not that Noah Moretti brought danger with him.
May you like
It was that when he looked at me…
I wondered if he was trying to keep the danger away.
