CHAPTER 2-THE PULL
494 Words
Selene didn’t sleep.
She lay on her mattress, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment from the day before—the folder, the photo, the note, the message.
“I know who you are.”
And then the text:
“If you want answers, come alone. Tonight. 11 p.m. 17th and Mercer.”
She hadn’t responded. She hadn’t told anyone. There was no one to tell.
At 10:45 p.m., she stood outside the building—old, brick-faced, tucked between a shuttered café and a pawn shop. No cameras. No signs. Just a single flickering streetlamp and the hum of distant traffic.
She stepped inside.
The hallway smelled like dust and secrets. A single bulb buzzed overhead.
At the end of the corridor, a door opened.
He was there.
Darius Vane.
No suit. No assistant. Just him—in a black shirt, sleeves rolled, eyes unreadable.
“You came,” he said.
“I want answers.”
He gestured to a chair. “Sit.”
She didn’t move.
He sighed. “You’re not here to intern. You’re here because of your mother.”
“You ruined her.”
“She tried to ruin me first.”
“She was defending herself.”
He leaned against the wall. “She was brilliant. But she underestimated me.”
Selene’s jaw tightened. “She trusted the wrong people.”
“She trusted herself too much.”
Silence.
He stepped closer. “You think I’m the villain.”
“You are.”
He smiled. “Then why are you here?”
She didn’t answer.
He walked to a cabinet, pulled out a file, and tossed it on the table.
“Your mother’s case. Everything she tried to hide.”
Selene opened it. Photos. Emails. Contracts. And a letter—signed by her mother.
Her hands trembled.
“She had been secretly planning to sell her company to a competitor. Behind your back. Behind everyone’s.”
“No,” Selene whispered.
“She wanted out. She just didn’t want you to know.”
Selene stared at the letter. The handwriting. The date.
“She was protecting me.”
“Or protecting herself.”
He sat across from her. “You came for revenge. But you don’t know the whole story.”
“I know enough.”
“Do you?” He leaned in. “What if I told you she asked me to destroy it?”
Selene blinked. “You’re lying.”
“I have the recordings.”
She stood. “I don’t believe you.”
He didn’t stop her. “Tomorrow,” he said, “you’ll see the truth.”
She left. The night swallowed her. But the file stayed in her hand.
Back in her apartment, Selene opened the file again.
And there—tucked between the pages—was a photo she’d never seen before.
Her mother. In Darius’s office. Smiling.
The timestamp read: two weeks before the collapse.
She stared at it for a long time.
- Writer
