Threats

Yvonne sat in her car outside the dingy café, her perfectly manicured fingers drumming against the steering wheel. She'd been waiting for twenty minutes, and patience wasn't exactly her strong suit. The neighborhood wasn't one she'd normally be caught dead in, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Her phone buzzed. Finally.

"Inside. Corner booth," the text read.

She grabbed her designer purse and stepped out, her heels clicking against the cracked pavement. The café smelled like stale coffee and broken dreams, but Yvonne pushed through the door anyway. In the far corner, a man in his fifties sat hunched over a cup of black coffee. Marcus Webb – former police detective turned private investigator. And more importantly, someone who owed her a favor.

"Marcus," she said, sliding into the booth across from him.

"Yvonne." His voice was rough, like he'd been smoking for thirty years. Which he probably had. "Been a while."

"Not long enough," she muttered, then leaned forward. "I need your help."

Marcus chuckled, a sound like gravel in a cement mixer. "Course you do. Nobody calls me for social visits."

"There's a woman. Clara something. She's living with Devon Cage, claiming she's carrying his baby."

"Devon Cage? The billionaire guy and your boyfriend?"

"That's the one." Yvonne's jaw tightened. "I need you to prove that baby isn't his."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "And if it is his?"

Yvonne's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Of course I know it is his, but that is what the fertility clinic said. I have tried to kill her and the baby but it didn’t work, so now we just have to make sure he thinks the baby is not his. I don’t care if we have t tamper with the results, but I need that bitch out of my man’s life."

The man nodded as he said, “Okay then, I hear you, but you know doing that would require a lot of money” she sighed as she said, “And when has that ever been a problem for me?”

He nodded with a smirk as he said, “Okay, consider it done”. She smiled as she said, “Now get out of here and get to work” he smiled as he stood up and left the café.

Meanwhile, across town, Clara was trying to focus on the book in her lap, but the words kept swimming together. She'd been feeling restless all morning, like something was crawling under her skin. The huge living room suddenly felt too small, too quiet.

The sound of Devon's car in the driveway made her heart skip. Even after all these weeks, she still got butterflies when he came home. Which was ridiculous, considering their situation.

Her fingers brushed the lapel of Devon’s jacket that still lay across her shoulders. She couldn’t bring herself to return it back to Devon. It was warm, soft… and smelled like him. That clean, bold scent she had come to recognize even from a distance.

She had flashbacks of the night before as her eyes burned with unshed tears, not because of the slap she got from Yvonne, not even because of the fight. It was the way Devon had stood up for her. The way he shielded her without asking questions. The way he had walked over, silent but strong, and wrapped her in his jacket like she was someone worth protecting. She was confused, she was supposed to hate him, she is mad at him, so she tells herself, but why is her heart betraying her. Why does it skip a beat whenever he is around. What could she call this feeling.

"Clara?" His voice echoed through the house.

"In here!" she said as she hurriedly took off the jacket and placed it on her couch.

Devon appeared in the doorway, still in his black suit from whatever business meeting he'd just conquered. His tie was loose around his neck, and his dark hair looked like he'd been running his hands through it. He looked good. Too good.

"How was your day?" he asked, though his tone suggested he wasn't really asking about her book or the terrible daytime TV she'd been avoiding.

"Fine. Boring. The usual." She closed the book and looked up at him. "How was yours? Terrify any employees today?"

"Only three," he said with a straight face, then the corner of his mouth twitched. "Maybe four."

She laughed despite herself. "You're terrible."

"So I've been told." He loosened his tie completely and sat down on the opposite end of the couch. "We need to talk."

Clara's stomach dropped. Those four words never led anywhere good. "About what?"

"About the accident."

Before Clara could respond, a maid came in with a letter for Clara which was just delivered by a courier company, Devon took it from her immediately as she asked, “Why did you do that”, he ignored her as he opened it and saw what was written on the note, “YOU CAN’T HIDE AWAY FOREVER, I WILL GET YOU AND I WILL END YOU” and the writing ends with a laughing emoji. Immediately, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. A text from an unknown number.

Leave Devon's house. Take your bastard baby and disappear. You don't belong in his world. This is your only warning.

Clara's face went white. She grabbed the phone and turned it face down, but it was too late. Devon had seen her reaction.