MasukThe waiter—silent, efficient—delivers the check in its leather folder. Lucas reaches for it, but I intercept, fingers landing on his. The touch is more electric than it should be. For a second, neither of us moves. “Please,” I say. “This was my invitation.” His eyes flick up, amusement or challeng
He nods, the answer immediate. “Constantly. But it beats the alternative.” I sip my wine, then set it down. “What’s the alternative?” “Letting people see who you really are,” he says, and this time the smile is real, the sharp edges softened. The main course arrives—pasta for him, grilled fish fo
I give a half-smile. “You’re late,” I reply, though he isn’t. I check the watch on my wrist, just to sell it. “Two minutes past.” He glances at his own, a subtle flex of wrist. “My mistake. I’ll punish myself accordingly.” The waitress arrives—dark hair in a knot, a tattooed forearm—and pours him
“I need to change out of this,” I say, plucking at the suit. The fabric is creased, still damp from the earlier sprint, and smells faintly of bleach and sweat. “Give me twenty minutes?” Lucas glances at his watch. “Make it thirty. You could use the time.” He’s right, and I don’t argue. “Meet you i
It’s not quite dark, but the city is already closing up shop. The suite is a luminous cave above the rain—office lights gone to skeleton crew, security desk unmanned, and the cleaning staff fled to lower floors by the threat of thunder. I linger in the doorway, shoulder pressed to the frame, watchin
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He glances up, the green in his eyes gone dark in the morning shadow. “Would you have believed me?” I want to say yes, but we both know the answer. I sip my coffee, taste the lemon, and let the bitterness set in. There’s a comfort in the ritual: evidence, analysis, the s
The final confirmation comes in the shape of a hidden file, a false-bottomed drawer, a false life. Derek’s private study is full of shadows, of secrets, of quiet deceit. The storm drums against the windows like a warning, like an omen, like the edges of what I know to be true. I begin my search with
The bathroom lights are a yellow blur, the harsh fluorescent brightness making me squint, making my skin crawl, making the change come harder and faster and more unbearably raw. I stumble to the mirror, the surface cool and shocking against my overheated palms. The reflection is an unsteady accusati
Lucas smiles, the expression almost teasing. “Sometimes it pays to take risks, Mara.” The use of my name is deliberate, intentional, and I feel my resistance falter, my defenses crumble. I don’t respond. I can’t respond. Not with words, not yet. I reach for a file, anything to keep the conversatio
The pen wavers in my hand, an unsteady promise, an unsteady threat. I draw a line through Derek’s name, feel the pull to call him, to complicate things. The urge is sharp, almost as sharp as my need to avoid him, to handle this on my own. The breeze catches the edge of the calendar, rustling it like







