Roman and Julienne's heart desire
Chapter 87: Rachel’s Nightmare

Chapter 87: Rachel’s Nightmare

The city was quieter at night—almost too quiet, like it was holding its breath.

Logan’s steps were swift but silent as he walk through the alleyway.

His hoodie clung to his frame, the black fabric absorbing the faint amber glow of the distant streetlight.

The air smelled faintly of rust and damp concrete. He passed a broken lamp, then ducked through the iron gate without pausing.

Inside, the space breathed shadows.

The place wasn’t marked, and it didn’t need to be. The air was thick with unspoken rules.

Conversations stayed low, eyes stayed averted.

Tables were mismatched, chairs squeaked, and the walls were covered in peeling black paint and half-torn posters.

Somewhere, a jazz record played softly beneath the hum of an old ceiling fan.

Logan scanned the room once.

Then walked to the farthest booth.

A man sat there already, his back turned slightly, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

The smoke curled around his knuckles like mist.

Ink covered most of his hand, a snake coiled up his wrist and disappearing into his sleeve.

"You’re late," the man muttered, not bothering to look up.

"You’re dramatic," Logan replied, sliding into the seat across from him.

The man flicked ash into an empty espresso cup and finally looked up.

His eyes were hooded, pupils small. "Or maybe I just don’t like being kept waiting."

Logan ignored that. From his pocket, he pulled out a small black flash drive and placed it on the table between them.

The hacker looked down at it, then back up, one brow lifting.

"What’s on it?"

"Lewis Jenkins," Logan said calmly.

"Okay," the man said slowly, tapping ash again. "What about him?"

Logan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "I need you to dig something—anything—on him. Scandals. Lies. Buried lawsuits. Private affairs. I don’t care what it is, as long as it can ruin him."

The hacker chuckled under his breath. "You want dirt?"

"I want destruction," Logan said flatly. "I want him stripped of his pride. If I have enough to shake him, I’ll use it to force him to hand over the company. And if he doesn’t... I’ll leak every file myself."

The man stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge whether he was joking.

Logan’s face didn’t move. His jaw was tight, his voice sharp. No bluff. Just promise.

"And here I thought you were just another pretty boy with a grudge," the hacker said, amused.

"I’m not here to scratch an itch," Logan said. "I’m here to leave a scar."

The hacker leaned back slightly, fingers drumming the side of the flash drive. "So you’re going straight for the head?"

"No mercy," Logan said. "I want him paranoid before the first file even hits daylight."

The hacker nodded once, slowly. "You really hate this guy, huh?" _{f r\eew,eb novel.c(o)(m)}

Logan’s eyes darkened. "Let’s just say... he stole something. And I want it back."

There was silence for a moment—then the man reached for the flash drive.

"And the payment?"

"Already sent," Logan said coolly.

The man pulled his phone from his coat, thumbed through an app, and whistled low.

"Damn. You’re not playing small. Maybe I would’ve known earlier if I’d actually checked my phone"

"I never do."

The hacker pocketed the drive. "Alright. Give me two days."

"You’ve got one," Logan said, standing.

The man blinked. "One day?"

"You want me to double the fee?"

"No—" he raised a hand quickly. "One day it is."

Logan turned to go, but paused.

He looked back over his shoulder, his voice quieter now. "Make sure it’s real. Something that would crush him if it ever got out. I’m not here for speculation."

The hacker gave a two-fingered salute. "You’ll get your fire."

Logan smirked faintly. "Good. Just make sure it burns clean."

And with that, he stepped back into the shadows of the alley, leaving the faint scent of cold smoke and war behind him.

I’m the room where Rachel was tuck in the sheet asleep the sheets rustled.

Rachel’s eyes fluttered open in the dim light of early morning. A dull ache throbbed behind her temples, like a warning bell muffled under a blanket.

Her lashes clung together slightly, her throat parched.

She blinked up at the high ceiling, confused for a moment.

Then it came back—her crying, Logan’s arms, the glass of water...

Her body tensed.

Shit.

Rachel sat up abruptly, her hand gripping the edge of the bed. The silk blanket fell away from her shoulders as panic trickled in.

"What did I say last night?" she whispered into the empty room.

She turned toward the warm lamp still glowing faintly near the couch—the spot where Logan had been sitting.

The memory returned in flashes: Roman... Julie... her mouth running like a river, unstoppable.

Oh God...

Rachel swung her legs over the bed and stood barefoot on the polished tiles.

The cold bit into her soles. She walked in a slow, tight circle, her arms wrapping around herself, eyes darting from corner to corner.

"I told him too much."

The realization hit like ice, sinking into her bones.

Then—

The doorknob turned with a quiet click.

Rachel froze.

Logan stepped in slowly, wearing a loose black shirt and gray sweats, his hair slightly damp like he’d just come from the bathroom.

He held a glass of water in one hand and a folded towel in the other.

His eyes met hers immediately. Steady. Calm.

"You’re awake," he said as he moved toward the vanity and placed the towel gently on the chair.

Rachel’s heart hammered. She managed a weak smile. "Yeah... I—I must’ve fallen asleep."

Logan crossed the room and held out the water to her.

She hesitated, then stepped forward and took it. Their fingers brushed—hers cold and shaking.

"You stayed?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"I did," Logan said, walking to the couch and lowering himself slowly onto the armrest.

He leaned slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving hers.

Rachel sat down slowly on the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath her as she gripped the glass with both hands.

She took a small sip. Her mouth felt dry again instantly.

"Thanks," she muttered.

The silence that followed felt louder than any sound.

Rachel glanced at him. "Did I... say anything weird last night?"

Logan tilted his head slightly. "Define ’weird.’"

She tried to laugh. It came out wrong. "I mean, I was overwhelmed. I barely remember anything."

He stared at her for a beat too long. "You talked," he said finally. "A lot."

Her fingers tightened around the glass.

"I was upset," she said quickly. "I didn’t mean to overshare—"

"Say things you shouldn’t?" Logan finished, his voice soft but razor-sharp.

Rachel’s breath caught in her throat.

He pushed off the couch armrest and stood.

Her head lifted as she watched him cross the room with unhurried steps.

He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell the faint trace of soap on his skin.

"You said quite a bit," he said. "Roman. Julie. Your father. The secrets."

Rachel looked up at him, blinking rapidly.

"I trust you," she whispered.

Logan didn’t respond.

Then, slowly, he crouched down in front of her, resting one arm casually on his bent knee.

His other hand reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

"You really trust me that much?" he asked, his voice lower now. Almost too gentle.

Rachel’s lips parted. "Y-yes."

His fingers lingered at her cheek for a second.

Then his hand fell away.

"You shouldn’t," he said.

Rachel blinked, confused. "What?"

But Logan was already rising.

He stood to full height and turned without a word, walking to the window in quiet, measured steps.

He reached for the curtain, peeled it open an inch, then let it fall.

"I meant what I said last night," he said, facing the window, his voice steady. "I’ll help you. I’ll be here."

"But—"

"But now I know exactly who you are, Rachel," Logan continued as he turned around to face her again. "And who you’ve always been."

Rachel rose shakily from the bed, her feet barely steady beneath her.

"Logan, wait," she said, stepping toward him. "I—I was scared, okay? That’s why I said all that. Please don’t twist it. I didn’t mean everything—"

His face was unreadable, lips pressed in a line.

"I’m not twisting anything," he said coldly. "I just finally see clearly."

Rachel’s hands dropped to her sides. Her mouth trembled.

"Why are you talking like this?" she whispered. "I let you in. I told you everything. I thought..."

She drew in a shaky breath.

"I thought you loved me."

Logan’s lips curved faintly—too faint to be a real smile.

"That’s exactly why you should be afraid."

The words were soft.

But they shattered something inside her.

He walked slowly to the door, each step deliberate, calm.

He reached for the doorknob and turned it slowly

Then looked back over his shoulder, eyes almost amused.

"Get some rest," he said lightly. "You’ll need your strength."

And he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Rachel stood frozen.

She wasn’t sure how long she remained there before her knees gave out and she sat back down on the edge of the bed. Her hands trembled. Her throat burned.

She didn’t know if it was the cold...

Or the way he’d looked at her—like a stranger wearing Logan’s face.

And then—

But in the blink of an eye, she jolted awake with a gasp.

Her body shot upright, chest rising and falling fast.

Her room was silent. The door was still closed.

No Logan. No footsteps. No glass of water. No words.

It had all been a dream.

But her heart was still racing. Her palms were still wet with sweat.

And the worst part?

Somewhere in her gut, something told her—

That dream wasn’t far from the truth.