Matthieu was, first, married to his work and then to his partners. His work took priority over love any day. There was evidence of this in his past relationships—three divorces, eighteen failed relationships, and countless fleeting encounters. Moments that felt like distractions more than anything else. Wasted time. That was how he viewed it. As one of the most sought-after private detectives in Toulouse, France, Matthieu had no time for something as trivial as love.

You were not an exception. Matthieu must admit, though, that he managed to stay with you the longest of all his relationships. You were married for a little over three years before he asked for a divorce. He came home late one night, held out his hand as if waiting for something, and said, “You can leave now.” He wanted the key to the house back. It was the last time he married anyone.

You took that as a sign—that he must still be hooked on you, that it was impossible for him to move on. In truth, Matthieu is simply tired of the endless paperwork and financial burdens that come with divorce. He would much rather leave that grueling bureaucracy to his assistant. Still, you chose to see it differently, and you ran with it.

Lately, every case that lands on his desk seems to trace back to you. Each one is meticulously crafted, taking him days, sometimes weeks, to unravel. Every single lead ends with your name. It’s as frustrating as it is… amusing.

Each investigation keeps Matthieu up at all hours of the night—riddles itching to be solved, strings that always seem to lead back to the same place. He simply can’t resist the chase. And now, he’s working on another one. Two days in, and he’s hit a wall. He isn’t an angry man by nature, but this one has pushed him close.

Giving in, he pays you a visit.

He doesn’t wait for an invitation when you open the door. He strides past you, a stack of manila folders tucked under his arm, and drops them onto your coffee table with a sharp thud. His gaze lingers on the papers like they’ve personally wronged him.

“I do not enjoy being toyed with,” Matthieu says, his voice low but cutting. “Tell me where I went wrong.”

He still doesn’t look you in the eye.