Chapter 4: The Weight of a Lie

Zoe

I walk out of his office on legs that do not belong to me. The door clicks shut, and I lean against the cold wall, pressing my palm to my chest. My heart is a caged bird throwing itself against the bars. I can still taste him – whiskey, coffee, and something darker, like the air before a storm. Between my thighs, I am still wet. Still aching. Still hungry.

I squeeze my legs together and bite my lip hard enough to taste copper. This is not supposed to happen. He is my target. The man I was hired to destroy. But my body wants him to push me against this wall and finish what he started. The receptionist looks at me with raised eyebrows. I push off the wall and force my legs to carry me toward the elevator. Each step is a battle. My dress is damp between my thighs, and I pray no one can see.

The elevator doors close, and I lean against the glass. The city drops beneath me. I close my eyes and see his face. The scar through his eyebrow. The hunger behind his cold mask. My nipples tighten at the memory.

What have I done? By the time I reach the lobby, my hands have stopped shaking. I walk outside into cold air that smells like rain. The sky is the colour of old bruises. I pull out my phone. A message from Evelyn Cole. First file tonight. Same place. Do not be late. The words land like stones in my stomach. Fear rushes back, cold and sharp. This is real. If I do not give Evelyn what she wants, my mother dies. I type back with steady fingers. I have something. I will be there.

I put the phone away and started walking. Forty blocks to my apartment. The city blurs past me. I feel like a ghost wrapped in borrowed skin. My mother's photograph burns in my pocket. Twelve million dollars. Three months. And a man who has looked at me like he already owns me.

My apartment is dark and cold when I finally reach it. The radiator clanks its lonely rhythm. The walls are thin enough to hear secrets, and I have too many of my own. I lock the door and lean against it. My mother's photograph sits on the kitchen table, propped against a stack of bills. She is smiling – before the cancer, before the weight loss. She looks like hope. I pick it up and hold it against my chest. "I am going to save you," I whisper. The words feel like stones sinking in deep water.

But even as I say it, my mind drifts back to him. To the way his thumb traced my lower lip. To the heat of his body pressed against mine. I press my palm between my legs, and the pressure sends a shiver through me. I am still wet. Still wanting. Stop it, I tell myself. He is using you. This is a transaction. But transactions do not leave you breathless and aching for more.

I did not sleep that night. I lie in my narrow bed, staring at the ceiling. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. I imagine his hands sliding up my thighs. His mouth on my neck. His voice in my ear. I slip my hand under the waistband of my underwear and touch myself. I am slick, ready. I think of his dark eyes, his sharp jaw. I come apart with his name on my lips, a broken whisper swallowed by the thin walls. Afterwards, I lie in the dark, my body trembling. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. I am crying because I have never felt so seen and so lost at the same time.

What is happening to me? The parking garage is dark and cold when I arrive that night. The folder is in my hands, thin and white, filled with the fake records Liam gave me. My palms are sweating. My heart is a drum. Evelyn is waiting in a small room on the third floor. Her grey suit is perfect. Her hair is pulled back tight. Her eyes are cold, flat, and then eyes of a woman who has seen too much and felt too little. She smiles, but it does not reach her eyes.

"You have something for me," she says. I hand her the folder. "Old records. Financial transactions. Nothing that will bring him down yet, but it is a start." She flips through the pages. "He is careful." "Yes and you? Is he careful with you?" I keep my face neutral. "He is interested. He watches me. He touches me when he thinks I am not paying attention."

Evelyn looks up, and I see the hunger in her eyes. "Has he kissed you?" "Yes."Good." She closes the folder. "Keep getting close to him. Keep feeding him lies. And when he trusts you, you will find the real file. The one his father died for." I nod and turn to leave, but her voice stops me. "Zoe." I look back.

"Your mother is comfortable. The treatments are going well. But if you fail me, if you betray me, that stops. Do you understand? "I understand." I walk out of the room, down the stairs, through the door, into the cold night air. The car is waiting. Liam is standing outside, his face tight with worry. "You are shaking," he says. "I am cold,"Liar."

He pulls me against him, and I bury my face in his chest. His arms wrap around me, warm and strong. For a moment, I forget about Evelyn. I forgot about the file. I forget about everything except the way his heart beats against my cheek. "I am not going to let her win," he says. "Your mother is going to live. And Evelyn is going to rot in prison." I look up at him. "I know. Because I am not going to let her win either." He kisses me then. Soft. Slow. I taste the promise in it, the future we are fighting for, the love growing between us even though we both know we should not let it.

When he pulls back, his voice is rough. "Let us go home."

I nod, and he helps me into the car. We drive through the dark city, his hand in mine. I do not let go. He is the only thing keeping me sane. But as we pull away, my phone buzzes. A new message. A photograph. My mother is ying on a bed I do not recognize. Tubes in her arms. A black mark crawling up her skin like poison ivy. And a note: Tick-tock, Zoe. The clock is ticking. And Evelyn is done waiting.