Chapter 16: Traps and Lies

The café was nearly empty when I pushed through the glass door, the bell above it giving a tired chime. The smell of burnt espresso and sugar clung to the air, it was the kind of place where conversations died in the corners and no one asked questions.

Sebastian had chosen it deliberately. Neutral ground. Unremarkable. Safe.

But the moment my eyes landed on the booth in the back, my pulse kicked.

Because Sebastian wasn’t alone.

Someone sat across from him, dark suit crisp, hair slicked back, eyes sharp in a way that made my stomach knot. He looked like he’d stepped out of a boardroom, not a hole-in-the-wall café.

Both men turned when I froze in the doorway.

Sebastian stood, his smile tight. “Eve.”

The stranger didn’t smile. His gaze flicked over me, assessing, cataloguing.

I forced my legs to move, crossing the room until I stood at the edge of the booth. My voice was steady, but my heart wasn’t.

“Who is this?”

Sebastian’s jaw flexed before he answered. “Eve, this is Richard Hale. He’s… an associate.”

Richard Hale. The name landed like a stone in my chest. Even I’d heard of him—Gabriel’s fixer, the man whispered about in circles that never reached the light. If problems had shadows, Richard was the one who erased them.

And if he were here, sitting across from Sebastian…

My eyes darted to Sebastian, searching his face. “You brought him?”

“No,” Sebastian said, his voice clipped. “He found me.”

Richard leaned back in the booth, folding his hands neatly. His tone was calm, but beneath it ran a quiet current of threat.

“You’re playing with fire, Mrs. Grayson. Digging into things better left buried.”

My mouth went dry.

He wasn’t looking at Sebastian when he said it. He was looking at me.

Sebastian bristled, stepping half in front of me like a shield. “She has every right to know the truth.”

“The truth,” Richard repeated, the word like glass breaking on his tongue. “Truth is slippery. Dangerous. And very, very expensive.”

His eyes slid back to me, cool and precise. “Emily isn’t your biggest problem. She’s reckless, yes. Sloppy. But she isn’t the one you should fear.”

The air thickened around us, suffocating.

I finally found my voice. “Then who should I fear?”

Richard smiled—small, thin, the kind of smile that held no warmth at all.

“The man who just told you to prove it.”

Gabriel.

The name didn’t leave his lips, but it didn’t have to. I felt it like a dagger sinking between my ribs.

Before I could speak, Richard rose, buttoning his jacket. He dropped a folded card onto the table between us.

“When you’re ready to stop chasing shadows,” he said, “call me.”

And then he walked out, his steps silent, leaving the smell of cologne and threat in his wake.

The bell above the door chimed again.

I stood frozen, staring at the card on the table.

Sebastian cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. “This just got complicated.”

Complicated?

No.

This was war.

—

Gabriel’s office was silent but for the soft hum of the air conditioning. He sat behind his desk, papers scattered across the mahogany surface, his head in his hands. The faint shadows beneath his eyes made him look older, wearier, like the crash had carved away pieces of him he hadn’t yet recovered.

The knock on the door was soft. Too soft.

Before he could answer, the door opened.

Emily stepped in.

She didn’t rush. Didn’t flinch. She moved like she owned the space, her heels clicking against the polished floor. A folder dangled from her manicured fingers, the faintest smile playing on her lips.

“Gabriel,” she said softly, almost tenderly. “You look tired.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t tell her to leave. That hesitation was all she needed.

She set the folder down on his desk, sliding it toward him with a single, deliberate push. “I thought you should see this.”

He didn’t touch it. “What is it?”

Her lashes lowered, the picture of fragile innocence. “Proof. Of what I told you.”

Finally, his eyes flicked to the folder. Slowly, as though against his better judgement, he opened it.

A single sheet lay inside. A clinic bill. His name was printed in neat black letters across the header, alongside hers. Charges for lab tests. An appointment date. A doctor’s signature.

Gabriel’s hand stilled on the paper.

Emily leaned forward, her voice dropping into that low, intimate register she knew unsettled him. “You were there with me, Gabriel. The day they confirmed it. You promised me I wouldn’t face this alone.”

His pulse kicked hard in his throat. He didn’t remember. He couldn’t remember. But the neat alignment of his name, the cold clinical typeface, the bill—it all felt undeniable.

“Why are you showing me this?” he asked, his voice flat.

“Because you deserve to know the truth,” she murmured, letting her fingers brush against his, on the desk. “And because Eve will do everything to convince you I’m lying.”

His eyes flicked up at her hand, lingering too close. He pulled his back.

Emily didn’t falter. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, her blouse curving delicately against the motion. “I don’t need you to leave her. I don’t need to ruin her life. All I need is for you to be there. For us. For this child.”

The words slid between them like oil, slick and poisonous.

Gabriel’s throat worked. “I don’t remember any of it.”

Her smile softened, sympathetic. “That’s not your fault. The crash took so much from you. But memory doesn’t change facts. You were there, Gabriel. You are the father. And whether you remember or not, you still have responsibilities.”

He closed the folder. Hard. The slap echoed through the office.

Emily’s gaze lingered on his, unblinking, steady.

“Ask yourself,” she whispered, “what kind of man you want to be. The one who abandons his child? Or the one who protects it?”

And with that, she turned, walking toward the door.

Her perfume trailed behind her, sweet and cloying.

Gabriel sat in the silence she left behind, the folder heavy in his hands. His knuckles were white against the paper.

Because a question had begun to coil in his mind—one he didn’t dare voice.

What if she wasn’t lying?