Clause of Seduction

2.

Chapter Two: Shadows in the Loft

The knife trembles in my hand, its blade catching the dim light from the streetlamp outside. My loft, usually a sanctuary of exposed brick and warm wood, feels like a trap now. The creak in the hallway echoes in my skull, and my pulse hammers so hard I swear it’s shaking the walls. I back toward the door, my boots silent on the hardwood, every nerve screaming to run but my gut telling me to fight. Whoever’s here, they’re not getting the drop on me.

“Talia?” a voice calls, low and familiar, but it’s not comforting. It’s Derek.

I freeze, the knife still raised. My ex-husband’s voice shouldn’t be in my apartment at midnight, not after he served me those divorce papers like a coward through a courier. The text from the unknown number—Stop, or you’ll regret it—flashes in my mind. Is this him? Or is he just the bait?

“Show yourself, Derek,” I say, my voice steady despite the adrenaline flooding my veins. “You’ve got five seconds before I start swinging.”

A shadow moves in the hallway, and he steps into the light, hands raised like he’s surrendering. He’s still got that boyish charm—blond hair mussed just right, blue eyes wide with fake innocence—but there’s a nervous edge to him tonight. His designer jacket is wrinkled, and his left hand fidgets with his watch, a tell I’ve known since our first date. He’s scared.

“Easy, Tal,” he says, using the nickname I hate. “I just want to talk.”

“Talk?” I bark a laugh, the knife still pointed at his chest. “You sent me divorce papers claiming half my company, and now you’re sneaking into my place like a thief? What’s your game, Derek?”

He takes a step forward, and I tighten my grip on the knife. “Stay where you are.”

He stops, swallowing hard. “I didn’t want it to go like this, okay? I came to… explain. You’re making a mistake, digging into things you don’t understand.”

My eyes narrow. “Like NexusCorp? Or that email about a deal you’re hiding? Who’s ‘she,’ Derek? Me? Your mistress?”

His face pales, and for a second, I think he’s going to bolt. But then he forces a smile, that slick, salesman grin that used to charm investors. “You’ve been snooping, huh? Should’ve known you wouldn’t let it go.”

“Damn right I won’t.” I step closer, the knife a warning between us. “You’re not taking Whitlock Enterprises. I built it while you were off screwing around. So tell me what’s going on, or I swear I’ll carve the truth out of you.”

He flinches, and it’s satisfying, seeing him squirm. But then his eyes dart to something behind me, and my stomach drops. Before I can turn, a hand clamps over my wrist, twisting hard. The knife clatters to the floor, and I spin, coming face-to-face with a man in a black hoodie, his face half-hidden by a scarf. His grip is iron, and his eyes are cold, like a predator’s.

“Bad move, lady,” he growls, his voice muffled but sharp.

I don’t think—I react. My free hand swings, catching him in the jaw. He staggers, but his grip doesn’t loosen, and I hear Derek mutter, “s**t, just grab her!”

Panic claws at me, but I’m not sixteen in a foster home anymore, cowering from fists. I kick hard, aiming for the thug’s knee, and he grunts, his hold slipping just enough for me to wrench free. I dive for the knife, but Derek’s faster, kicking it under the couch. “Talia, stop!” he shouts, but there’s no concern in his voice—just desperation.

The thug lunges, and I dodge, grabbing a lamp from the side table and swinging it like a club. It cracks against his shoulder, and he curses, but he’s big, and I’m running out of room. My back hits the wall, and I scan for an exit. The door’s too far, and Derek’s blocking the hallway. My phone’s on the counter, but there’s no time to grab it.

“Why, Derek?” I snarl, dodging another grab from the thug. “What’s NexusCorp? What’s worth this?”

He hesitates, and for a split second, I see the man I married—uncertain, almost human. But then his face hardens. “You should’ve taken the settlement, Tal. You’re in over your head.”

The thug charges, and I throw myself sideways, crashing into the coffee table. Pain shoots through my ribs, but I roll to my feet, grabbing a shard of the broken wineglass. It’s not much, but it’s sharp. “Stay back!” I yell, brandishing it like a blade.

The thug pauses, but Derek’s already moving, grabbing my arm. “Just listen, damn it! They don’t want you dead, they just—”

A loud crack splits the air, and the window behind me shatters. Glass rains down, and I duck, my heart lurching. Someone’s shooting. The thug swears, diving for cover, and Derek freezes, his eyes wide with terror. I don’t wait to see who’s firing—I bolt for the door, my bare feet crunching on glass, the shard still clutched in my hand.

I’m halfway down the hall when I hear footsteps pounding behind me. My loft’s on the fifth floor, and the elevator’s too slow. I hit the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time, my breath ragged. The text, the email, Derek’s ambush—this isn’t just about divorce. It’s bigger, and I’m the target.

I burst onto the street, the July night air hot and sticky. Tribeca’s alive with late-night crowds, but I feel exposed, like a spotlight’s on me. My phone’s still in the apartment, along with my shoes, my bag, everything. I need help, and there’s only one person I can think of.

Cassian.

I spot a bodega across the street, its neon sign buzzing. I sprint inside, ignoring the clerk’s startled look. “Phone,” I gasp. “I need a phone.”

He points to a landline behind the counter, and I dial Cassian’s number from memory, praying he picks up. It rings twice, then his voice, calm but alert. “Talia? It’s past midnight. What’s wrong?”

“Someone just tried to grab me,” I say, my voice shaking despite myself. “Derek was in my apartment with some thug. And then—someone shot at us. The window—”

“Where are you?” His tone shifts, all business, no trace of the charming lawyer from earlier.

“Bodega on West Broadway, near my place. I don’t have my phone, Cassian. I don’t know who’s after me.”

“Stay there. Don’t move. I’m ten minutes out.” There’s a rustle, like he’s already grabbing his keys. “Talia, listen to me. Don’t trust anyone. Not even Derek.”

“Trust me, I don’t,” I snap, but my voice cracks, and I hate it. I’m not this person—scared, running. I built a company from nothing. I survived worse than this. But my hands are shaking, and the clerk’s watching me like I’m a bomb about to go off.

“Talia,” Cassian says, softer now, “you’re tougher than this. Hold it together. I’m coming.”

The line goes dead, and I grip the counter, trying to steady my breathing. The clerk, a wiry guy with a faded Yankees cap, clears his throat. “Lady, you okay? You want me to call the cops?”

“No cops,” I say quickly. I don’t know who to trust, not after that text, not after Derek’s betrayal. “Just… let me wait here a minute.”

He nods, but his eyes keep darting to the door. I don’t blame him. I’m a mess—barefoot, glass cuts stinging my feet, a bloodied shard in my hand. I look like trouble, and I feel like it too.

Minutes crawl by, each one stretching my nerves tighter. I keep replaying Derek’s words: They don’t want you dead. Who’s “they”? NexusCorp? Victor Lang? And why the hell was someone shooting? Was it meant for me, or was Derek the target? My mind’s spinning, but one thing’s clear: that email I found is the key, and someone’s desperate to keep it buried.

Headlights flash outside, and a black SUV pulls up, sleek and out of place in the bodega’s grimy lot. The driver’s door opens, and Cassian steps out, his suit jacket gone, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal those scarred knuckles. His gray eyes lock on me through the glass, and relief hits me like a wave, followed by a pang of suspicion. He’s here too fast, too calm. Can I really trust him?

He strides in, his presence filling the tiny store. “Talia,” he says, scanning me head to toe. “You hurt?”

“Just cuts,” I say, holding up my bloodied hand. “Glass. I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push. “We need to move. Now. Whoever sent that thug might still be out there.”

I nod, dropping the shard on the counter. The clerk’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say a word. I follow Cassian to the SUV, my bare feet slapping the pavement, every shadow making me jump. He opens the passenger door, but before I get in, I grab his arm. “Cassian, why’d you say not to trust Derek? What do you know?”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, I think he’s going to dodge the question. But then he leans in, his voice low. “I’ve seen guys like him before. They don’t act alone. That email you showed me? NexusCorp’s not just a company—it’s a front. And if Lang’s involved, this goes deeper than a divorce.”

My stomach twists. “Deeper how?”

Before he can answer, tires screech down the street. A black sedan peels out from an alley, headlights off, barreling toward us. Cassian shoves me into the SUV, slamming the door as he dives into the driver’s seat. “Hold on!” he yells, and the engine roars to life.

The sedan’s gaining, and my heart’s in my throat. I glance at Cassian, his hands steady on the wheel, eyes sharp like he’s done this before. “Who the hell are they?” I shout, bracing against the dashboard as he swerves through traffic.

“I don’t know,” he says, but his tone says otherwise. “But they’re not here to talk.”