Clause of Seduction

Chapter One: Mud on Marble I storm into Cassian Vale’s Manhattan office, my boots leaving faint smears of mud on the polished marble floor. The city’s July heat clings to my skin, but it’s the fire in my chest that’s got me moving like a hurricane. My fingers clutch a manila folder—divorce papers, still warm from the courier’s hands. Derek, my soon-to-be ex-husband, thinks he can take half of Whitlock Enterprises, the company I dragged from the ashes of his family’s failures. Over my dead body. The receptionist, a blonde with a smile so fake it could be plastic, looks up from her glass desk. “Ma’am, do you have an appointment?” “No,” I snap, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. “But I need Cassian Vale. Now.” Her eyes flicker to the mud on my boots, then back to my face, sizing me up. I know what she sees: wild dark hair, a leather jacket over jeans, and eyes that probably look like they could set her desk on fire. I don’t care. I’m not here to play nice. “Mr. Vale is in a meeting,” she says, her tone clipped. “If you’d like to—” “Tell him Talia Monroe is here,” I cut in, slamming the folder on her desk. The sound echoes in the sleek office, all glass and chrome, like something out of a sci-fi movie. “He’ll want to see me.” She hesitates, her manicured fingers hovering over the phone. I lean forward, just enough to make her flinch. “Trust me, sweetheart, you don’t want to be the one who makes me wait.” Before she can respond, a door at the far end of the room swings open. A man steps out, and the air shifts, like the room just took a deep breath. Cassian Vale. I’ve heard of him—New York’s legal shark, the guy who can make juries cry and opponents beg. But seeing him is something else. He’s tall, over six feet, with jet-black hair swept back and gray eyes that cut through me like a blade. His suit fits like it was poured on, and that crooked smile—God, it’s trouble in a three-piece. “Talia Monroe,” he says, his voice smooth, deep, like whiskey over ice. “Didn’t expect you to make such an entrance.” I straighten, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. “Didn’t expect my husband to try stealing my company either.” His smile widens, but there’s a glint in his eyes, sharp and curious. “Let’s talk in my office.” He glances at the receptionist, who’s frozen like a deer in headlights. “Claire, hold my calls.” She nods, and I follow Cassian down a hallway lined with framed awards and news clippings. Vale Crushes Corporate Giant in Court. Vale’s Winning Streak Continues. The guy’s a legend, but legends don’t scare me. They bleed like everyone else. His office is a corner suite, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan’s skyline. The Empire State Building glints in the distance, and I can’t help but think of the last time I was up there, with Derek, back when I thought love was enough to fix a broken man. Stupid, Talia. “Sit,” Cassian says, gesturing to a leather chair across from his desk. He doesn’t sit, just leans against the edge, arms crossed, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s itching to solve. “So, Derek Whitlock. Divorce papers. Spill it.” I toss the folder onto his desk, papers sliding out like a confession. “He’s claiming half of Whitlock Enterprises. Says he’s entitled because he was ‘instrumental’ in its success.” I scoff, the sound bitter even to my ears. “Instrumental, my ass. He was off chasing startups and mistresses while I rebuilt his family’s sinking ship.” Cassian flips open the folder, scanning the documents with a speed that tells me he’s done this a thousand times. His brow furrows, just a fraction, but it’s enough to make my stomach twist. “These are aggressive,” he says, tapping a page. “He’s not just asking for half. He’s claiming you mismanaged the company, siphoned funds. He’s painting you as the villain.” I laugh, sharp and humorless. “That’s rich. I turned a failing logistics firm into a multimillion-dollar operation. He couldn’t manage a lemonade stand.” Cassian’s eyes meet mine, and there’s something there—amusement, maybe, or respect. “I believe you. But courts don’t run on belief. They run on evidence. And Derek’s got a lawyer who’s a pit bull. Marissa Cole. You know her?” I shake my head, my fingers digging into the armrests. “Should I?” “She’s good. Dirty, but good.” He leans forward, elbows on his desk, and I catch a faint scar on his knuckles, white and jagged against his tanned skin. “If we’re going to fight this, I need everything. Every email, every bank statement, every dirty secret Derek’s got. You got anything like that?” My mind flashes to last night, to the email I found on Derek’s laptop while he was passed out on the couch, whiskey glass still in hand. A cryptic message from someone named “V.L.”—The deal’s set. NexusCorp takes 30%. She can’t know. It’s burned into my brain, but I don’t know what it means. Not yet. And I’m not sure I trust Cassian enough to tell him. “I’ve got… something,” I say, hedging. “But I need to know you’re in. All in. Derek’s not just a cheating bastard. He’s hiding something bigger, and I’m not losing my company to his games.” Cassian tilts his head, studying me. “You don’t trust easily, do you?” I meet his gaze, unflinching. “Would you? After being switched at birth, raised by foster parents who treated you like a punching bag, then rejected by your real family because you weren’t polished enough? Trust is a luxury I can’t afford.” His expression shifts, just for a second, like I’ve hit a nerve. But he recovers fast, that crooked smile back in place. “Fair enough. I’m in. But if we’re doing this, Talia, you don’t hold back. I need every piece of the puzzle, or we’re both screwed.” I nod, but my chest tightens. He’s right, but every instinct screams to keep my cards close. I’ve been burned too many times—by Derek, by my foster parents, by the Monroes who looked at me like I was a stray dog they didn’t want. Cassian’s charm is dangerous, and those gray eyes see too much. But I need him. For now. “Deal,” I say, standing and offering my hand. His grip is firm, warm, and I pull back fast, ignoring the spark that shoots up my arm. “Where do we start?” He grins, like a kid who’s just been handed a new toy. “We start with Derek’s finances. Offshore accounts, shell companies, anything he’s hiding. You said you’ve got something. Care to share?” I hesitate, then reach into my bag, pulling out my phone. “I found an email. It’s… weird. Mentions a company called NexusCorp and some deal. I don’t know what it means, but it’s not good.” Cassian’s eyes light up, like a hunter catching a scent. “Show me.” I open the email, my hands steady despite the knot in my gut. I tilt the screen toward him, watching his face as he reads. His jaw tightens, and when he looks up, there’s a new edge to him, like he’s seeing something I don’t. “NexusCorp,” he mutters, almost to himself. “That’s not a small player. Victor Lang’s behind it. Tech mogul. Bad news.” My heart skips. “You know him?” “Let’s just say our paths have crossed.” His tone is clipped, and he doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he stands, pacing to the window, his silhouette sharp against the city skyline. “If Lang’s involved, this isn’t just a divorce. It’s a war. You ready for that?” I swallow, the weight of it sinking in. “I’ve been fighting my whole life. What’s one more?” He turns, and that smile is back, but it’s different now—less playful, more like a promise. “Good. Because we’re going to burn this bastard down.” We spend the next hour hashing out a plan. Cassian’s all business, firing questions like bullets: When did Derek start acting strange? Any new players in the company? What about his mistress? I tell him about Elise, the redhead I caught him with at a gala last year, all sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes. Cassian’s already typing her name into his laptop, muttering about background checks. I’m impressed, but I don’t say it. He doesn’t need the ego boost. “You’re thorough,” I say instead, leaning back in the chair, my boots propped on his desk just to see if it bugs him. He glances at my feet, one eyebrow raised, but doesn’t comment. “I don’t lose, Talia. That’s why you’re here.” “Cocky much?” “Confident.” He smirks, and I roll my eyes, but there’s a warmth in my chest I don’t want to acknowledge. He’s good, and he knows it. That’s dangerous. By the time I leave, the sun’s dipping low, casting Manhattan in a golden haze. Cassian walks me to the elevator, his hand brushing my elbow for a second—long enough to make my pulse jump. “Get some rest,” he says. “First court date’s in a week. We’ll hit the ground running.” I nod, stepping into the elevator. “Don’t let me down, Vale.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he calls as the doors slide shut. Back in my apartment, a loft in Tribeca with exposed brick and too many memories of Derek, I pour a glass of wine and stare at the email again. She can’t know. Who’s “she”? Me? Someone else? My fingers hover over my laptop, itching to dig deeper, but I’m no hacker. I need Cassian for this, and that thought makes me uneasy. Relying on anyone feels like walking a tightrope without a net. I’m halfway through my second glass when my phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number. My heart stutters as I open it. You’re digging in the wrong places, Talia. Stop, or you’ll regret it. The wineglass slips from my hand, shattering on the hardwood. My eyes dart to the windows, the streetlights casting shadows that suddenly feel alive. Someone’s watching me. The email, NexusCorp, Derek’s lies—it’s all connected, and I’ve just stepped into the deep end. I grab my phone, my thumb hovering over Cassian’s number, but I freeze. Can I trust him? Really? A noise—soft, like a footstep—comes from the hallway. My breath catches, and I snatch a kitchen knife from the counter, my heart pounding so loud it drowns out the city noise. The floor creaks again, closer now, and I grip the knife tighter, backing toward the door. Someone’s here, in my apartment, and I’m not going down without a fight.