All Chapters of I Was Hired To Seduce My Boss : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Liam The warehouse is cold, dark, and smells like rust and regret. I stand in the centre of the room with an empty flash drive in my hand. The concrete floor is cracked, stained with oil, and something darker. The lights flicker overhead, buzzing like trapped insects. Somewhere in the shadows, I know Liam is watching, Marcus is watching, and the police are watching. But all I see is Evelyn. She stands across from me, her grey suit immaculate, her hair pulled back so tight it stretches her skin into a mask. Two guards flank her – large, silent, their faces carved from the same blank stone. "You have it?" she asks. I hold up the drive. "The real file. Every name. Every account. Everything your boss has been hiding for twenty years." Her eyes gleam. "Give it to me."Not until I see my mother." Evelyn smiles. It is a thin, cold thing – a crack in a dam that holds back a sea of teeth. "Your mother is safe. She is in the car. Waiting." "Let me see her." She snaps her fingers. A guard di

Zoe I wake to the smell of him. His arm is draped across my waist, his chest warm against my back, his breath slow and even on my neck. The morning light is pale and golden, slipping through the cracks in the curtains like a secret. For a moment, I forget. I forget the warehouse, the gunshots, the look in my father's eyes when they led him away. I forget the file, the names, and the clock that will not stop ticking. Then I remember. My mother is gone. Witness protection. A new name, a new face, a new life that does not include me. My father is in a cell, waiting for a trial that will send him away for the rest of his life. Evelyn is in prison, but her words still echo in my skull: There are generals above me. The war is not over. But his arm is warm, and his heart is steady, and for this moment, I let myself pretend. "Zoe." His voice is a rumble against my back. "You are thinking too loud." I turn in his arms. His dark eyes are open, soft, the sharp angles of his face softened b

Liam The sun sets over the lake, and I watch Zoe sleep. She is curled on the couch, her head on a pillow, her hair spread across the fabric like dark water. Her lips are parted. Her chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm. She looks peaceful – younger than her years, softer than the woman who walked into my office with a lie on her lips and a gun in her heart. I do not deserve her. I know this. I have known it since the moment I kissed her the first time – for the camera, for Evelyn, for the performance. But the performance became real, and the real became something I could not name. The file is on the table. I have not opened it in days. The names are still there – the generals, the ghosts, the men who have been hiding in the shadows for decades. I should be hunting them. I should be burning them down. But all I want to do is stay here. "Liam." Zoe's eyes are open, and she is watching me. "You are staring," she says. "I am admiring." She smiles. It is a small smile, tired

Liam The cemetery is quiet, wrapped in a gray blanket of fog. The headstones rise from the earth like broken teeth, worn smooth by rain and time. I stand before my father's grave, a bouquet of white roses in my hand, the cold seeping through the soles of my shoes. Zoe is beside me, her hand in mine. She does not speak. She does not need to. I kneel and place the roses on the stone. The name is carved deep: David Cole. Beloved Father. Rest in Peace. "He was not at peace," I say. "He died fighting. Zoe kneels beside me. "Then he died as he lived." I trace the letters with my finger. The stone is cold, rough. I have been here a hundred times, but it has never felt like this. Never with her. "I have something to tell you," I say. "Something I have been keeping from you." Her grey eyes widen, but she does not pull away. "My mother," I say. "She is not dead." The words hang in the air, fragile as frost. "Liam—" "She faked her death. To protect me. To protect herself." I look at the grave

Liam The airport is a cathedral of glass and steel, filled with strangers rushing toward destinations I do not care about. I stand by the arrivals gate, Zoe's hand in mine, my heart pounding against my ribs like a fist. She has been quiet all morning, her grey eyes fixed on the sliding doors, her thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. "Are you nervous?" she asks. "Yes." Me too." I squeeze her fingers. Two years. Two years of letters passed through Marcus, of phone calls made from untraceable numbers, of wondering if I would ever see her face again. My mother. Eleanor. The woman who taught me to ride a bike, to tie my shoes, to hide my tears. The woman who disappeared without a word, leaving only a letter and a ghost. The sliding doors open. She steps out, and time stops. She is older than I remember. Her hair is gray, her face lined with worry and regret, but her eyes are the same. Green. Sharp. Mine. She is carrying a small suitcase, and she is looking directly at me. "Lia