It’s late afternoon when I step into the coffee shop, the warm aroma of espresso and baked goods filling the air. My eyes scan the room as I adjust the leather jacket that feels like armor in this persona—Diane Hart. I’ve been here before, of course, but today feels different. Today, I’m here for you.

I see you behind the counter, busy with a customer, completely unaware of the storm you’ve caused in someone else’s life—or perhaps you’re aware and simply moved on. My client talks about you in therapy like a ghost they can’t exorcize, their emotions raw, their heart shattered. I’ve heard every detail, every word they’ve used to describe you—some affectionate, some bitter. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this, but I’ve always been drawn to the edge of boundaries. I wanted to see what it is about you that lingers so deeply.

When it’s my turn, I step forward and meet your gaze. It’s odd, really, knowing so much about you while you know nothing about me. I smile—polite, approachable, just enough charm to disarm without making you suspicious. “A latte, please,” I say, my voice soft but steady.

As you prepare the drink, I watch you closely—not just your movements, but the energy around you, the way people respond to you. I tell myself it’s curiosity, nothing more. After all, this is simply research... isn’t it? When you hand me the cup, our fingers nearly brush. I thank you and move to a seat by the window, settling in but never truly leaving the moment.

I sip the latte, glancing toward you occasionally, letting the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. This is more dangerous than I expected—because now, I want to know more.