Chapter Eleven.

Oliver landed in France but didn't have time to sleep or rest due to the jet lag. He had business to attend to, so he set off to the appointment location.

Tyler's private bar was nestled in a quiet Parisian alley. The lounge was intimate, with the scent of cigars mingling with old-world charm—velvets and mahogany glistening under the glow of polished brass. Jazz played softly, brushing against the tension that clung to the room like smoke.

Daniel was already there, sitting on one of the plush emerald sofas, his lean form haloed by a curl of smoke

"I thought you quit smoking." He remarked eyeing the cigarette in Daniel's hand before sinking in the opposite seat.

His favorite whiskey was placed on the table before him. He took it and twirled it in his hand as he waited for Daniel's reply.

"Aurora is hiding something from me." He said, voice chilling. Winter was Daniel Froster.

"Rory hiding something from you? Shouldn't it be the other way round?" Oliver swirled his own glass, the scent of vanilla and oak drifting up. He smirked, despite the chill. "Rory hiding something from you? Shouldn't that be the other way around?"

The joke, though cutting, didn't land lightly. Oliver was never one to tread carefully, especially not when he knew just how fragile Daniel's marriage had once been.

"What?" He shrugged. "I only speak the truth. Telling lies is wrong."

"One day, you'll realize that life isn't just being good and evil."

"I know it isn't. Why do you think I'm friends with you of all people?"

"Because you thought I had been accepted into Hogwarts and wanted me to help you get in."

"You cannot blame me for having dreams! The letter did come but I just couldn't go!" He protested making Daniel understand that his friend was crazy. But he knew why he loved it so much.

"Did you bring it?"  Daniel asked, switching back to business.

"Yes." Oliver brought out the flash from his coat pocket and handed it to Daniel. Daniel inspected the small device while Oliver sipped his drink.

The sweet note of vanilla and oak comforted him but for some inexplicable reason, he longed for something milky. That was so strange.

"How long do you plan on staying in Paris?"

"A day."

"What, can't be apart from your wife for more than a day? Pathetic."

Seeing his friend's mocking gaze, Daniel's lips lightly curled upward. "Don't worry. If I could be broken, so can you, Ollie. You are not incapable of loving."

"I know but I can evade it. A wise sailor fleas before the storm gathers."

"That's why wise people aren't always the bravest." Daniel drank his wine.

"That's where you are wrong, my friend. There's bravery in running away so you can come back stronger. Sometimes the bravest thing to do is nothing."

"Never knew you were into philosophy, Ollie."

"I'm not into philosophy," he scowled.

"Maybe Lilac did teach you something after all." He chuckled lowly.

"Why don't you go back home to your wife and leave me in peace?"

"Is Ollie scared of being teased?" Daniel's smile widened seeing his friend's black face. With the smile, anyone would fall in love with him. His handsomeness was unmatched.

A high bridged nose, rare grey eyes, sharp brows like knives, and a face mask with coldness but deep down there was a playful and charming side to him. A side brought back by his lovely wife, Aurora.

"Are you going to see your brother, Oliver?" He changed the topic knowing Oliver could get angry. Playing didn't sit well with his friend.

"I'm not sure." Daniel nodded and didn't push the topic. Oliver's hand tightened on the glass.

"The encryption is unlocked by only you and the password has to be changed every day to ensure no one breaks in," Oliver informed him. It was for his business. He was working on a new project hence the secrecy.

"Thank you." Daniel stood up about to leave before he suddenly recalled something. "How are Nate and Aurora's serum coming along?"

Oliver paused, fingers tapping on the glass.

"It's still protected. Any new thing they want to add is added by me and only me."

Daniel trusted him like a brother so he was put at ease.

"How are you?" He asked, studying Oliver's slumped posture.

"I'm well, as you can see. Why are you asking?" Oliver raised a brow.

"Nate told me you wanted to increase your dosage. Have you been having trouble sleeping again? I thought your nightmares were gone." His hands settled in his pocket.

"It's just stress. You know how hard it is running a business, Froster. Now leave me be so I can have some peace and quiet."

On his way out, Daniel squeezed his friend's shoulders. He didn't know how to use words but his actions were louder. He was supposed to leave immediately after he received the flash but he stayed to check up on him. Oliver's eyes softened. He let out a sigh before chugging down the remaining whiskey.

                                        ****

The walls were painted in calming earth tones—muted beige or soft gray—creating a neutral and peaceful environment. A large window lets in natural light, filtered by simple, elegant blinds, adding to the sense of calm.

A dark leather armchair, well-worn yet comfortable, sat behind a sturdy wooden desk. The desk was minimal, with a small lamp, a notepad, and a couple of books on psychology neatly arranged. Across from it, a cozy sofa, upholstered in a soft neutral fabric, was occupied by a tall man whose leg was crossed elegantly. Next to the sofa was a small wooden side table with a box of tissues, a glass of water, and perhaps a potted plant for a touch of greenery.

Bookshelves line one wall, filled with academic texts, framed certificates, and a few personal touches, like a family photo and a small piece of art. The office is free from clutter but not overly sterile, striking a balance between professionalism and a relaxed, supportive atmosphere. Soft classical instrumental music tailored to the man on the sofa's taste played faintly in the background.

"It's almost winter." The bald man seated behind the desk commented, peering down at Oliver. His tiny glasses were on the bridge of his nose, revealing the depth of his dark eyes.

"I am aware."

"According to what you told me in a previous session, Oliver you said you were okay with the scars and they signified that you've won the battle." His eyes didn't stray away from him but the latter didn't say anything. He observed the minute twitch of his lips and the way his fingers drummed on his lap.

"What are you counting?"

"I'm not counting," Oliver muttered, the edge in his voice betraying his calm posture.

"Then why the tapping?" Isaac leaned forward, his dark eyes steady. "Does this session stress you?"

"I am not stressed, Dr Isaac."

"I've been your therapist for over a year, and yet it feels like we're circling the same spot. I can't help you if you don't open up." Isaac's voice was gentle but firm, crossing his legs as he observed every twitch of Oliver's face

"You already know more than you should, so what else is there to talk about?"

"I don't know. You tell me. I am here to listen to you, so is there anything you would like to share, Liv?"

He snapped towards the old man, shocked at his audacity. "Don't call me that!" He growled.

The therapist cleared his throat, "My apologies. Why don't you like the name?"

Oliver's breath hitched.

'Liv! Liv! Come here! Mummy wants to play!" "I love you Liv! Tell mummy you love her too!" "I'll count to ten and you'll come out wherever you are Liv!"

"Scream for mummy Liv! Scream!"

"She called me that." He gritted out.

"I see." Isaac jotted down something but continued to ask, "Any new development recently?"

Oliver hesitated, feeling the familiar pull of venom just under his skin. His thoughts drifted—Kayla. That damn girl. Every encounter was a test of endurance, like standing too close to a fire just to feel something.

"I touched her."

"Touched whom?" The man raised his head, pleasantly surprised.

"None of your business." He retorted coldly.

Isaac's brow furrowed. "How did you feel when it happened?"

"I expected to be repulsed." Oliver paused, his fingers tightening on his knee. "But I wasn't."

Isaac leaned in, intrigued. "And how do you feel when you're around her?"

"Annoyed," Oliver said, his voice cold and sharp. "Every time she's there, it's like I'm being wound tighter and tighter. She tests me. Every word, every look. She pushes, and I want to push back. Hard."

This was the longest he had ever spoken.

"Why does she test your patience?"

"I don't know. But I want to break her and see what she's made of. I want to know everything about her and then burn her with it." The fifty-two-year-old man's scalp tingled, seeing Oliver's wolfish smile.

The therapist jotted something down, heart pounding at the rare outpouring. "What is it about her that tests you?"

"I don't know," Oliver admitted, the words almost a growl. "But I want to break her, find out everything she's hiding, and burn her with it."

Isaac stilled, the air in the room suddenly thick with unspoken tension. "That sounds like an obsession, Oliver. And that can be dangerous and unhealthy."

Unhealthy in what sense? He didn't understand it. Was almost wanting to plant cameras in her room also an unhealthy obsession? She suggested it, anyway. How would he know if she had done the assignment all by herself? She could as well lie to him. The only thing unhealthy was her attitude.