HIS CONTRACTED ASSASSIN

THE TRAP SPRINGS

Marcus stepped over the threshold like he owned the house. Like he hadn't just walked past my grandmother's body with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.

“Don't touch her,” I said, my voice coming out razor sharp. My knees were still on the floor, Evelyn's blood soaking through the fabric of my dress. I didn't care. “You did this.”

“I did this.” Marcus stopped a few feet away, looking down at Evelyn's face with something that might have been respect. “But not for the reason you think. Your grandmother was never going to let you complete your revenge, Lena. She was using you to get to Julian. And when I offered her more money to switch sides, she took it.”

The words didn't make sense. My grandmother had spent twenty-two years training me to hate the Ashfords. She wouldn't just switch sides for cash.

“You're lying.” I stood up, my legs shaking. “She hated your family.”

“She hated my father.” Marcus pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his fingers, even though I hadn't seen him touch anything. “Your mother wasn't murdered by an Ashford, Lena. She was murdered by Evelyn.”

The room stopped spinning. Everything went still and silent, like the world had pressed pause.

“That's not possible.”

“Your mother found out that Evelyn was laundering money through your father's company. When she threatened to go to the police, Evelyn arranged the car accident.” Marcus tucked the handkerchief away. “She blamed the Ashfords because it was convenient. Because my father was already a monster, and everyone believed him capable of anything.”

My hands were numb. My heart was beating somewhere in my throat. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I expect you to check the evidence.” He nodded toward a small box on the mantel—an old wooden chest I had seen a thousand times. “Open it.”

I walked to the mantel on legs that didn't feel like my own. The box was unlocked. Inside, a stack of letters tied with ribbon. My mother's handwriting.

I pulled out the top letter and read.

Evelyn, I know about the accounts. If you don't stop, I'm going to the police. You can't keep stealing from Dad's clients. This isn't who we are.

The letter crumpled in my fist. Another one. And another. Each one more desperate than the last. My mother begging Evelyn to stop. Evelyn's replies, cold and dismissive. And then the final letter, dated the day before my mother died.

You've left me no choice. Tomorrow, I'm going to the authorities. I'm sorry it came to this. Please don't make me destroy you.

I looked at Evelyn's body on the floor. The woman who had raised me, who had held me when I cried, who had whispered revenge in my ear like a lullaby. She had murdered her own daughter.

“Why?” My voice cracked.

“Because Evelyn was a monster,” Marcus said quietly. “Just like my father. Just like half the people in this city.” He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne. “But here's the part you won't like. Julian knew.”

The blood drained from my face. “What?”

“Julian knew your mother wasn't killed by an Ashford. He knew Evelyn did it. He's known for years.” Marcus's voice was soft, almost kind. “He married you anyway. Because he wanted revenge too—not on your father, like he told you. On Evelyn. And on me.”

The room tilted. I grabbed the mantel to stay upright.

“He used you,” Marcus continued. “Just like Evelyn used you. The only difference is, I'm telling you the truth.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I'm not the one who locked you in a penthouse and called you property.” Marcus pulled something from his jacket—a photograph. He handed it to me.

Julian. Shaking hands with my father. Smiling.

“That was taken six months ago,” Marcus said. “Your father wasn't in debt because of gambling. Julian bought his debt. Paid him to set you up. The failed business, the drinking, the way he treated you—Julian orchestrated all of it to make you desperate enough to walk into his office.”

I stared at the photograph. My father's face was relaxed, almost happy. Julian's hand on his shoulder like they were old friends.

“You're lying,” I whispered again, but the words had no weight. The letters in my hand said otherwise. The photograph said otherwise. Everything I had believed for twenty-two years was crumbling around me.

“I'm not.” Marcus stepped back, giving me space. “You have a choice now, Lena. Stay with Julian, become his possession, and let him finish whatever game he's playing. Or help me destroy him first.”

“You killed my grandmother.”

“I killed a woman who murdered her own daughter and then spent two decades turning her granddaughter into a weapon.” Marcus's voice hardened. “Evelyn was never going to let you live, Lena. Once you served your purpose, she would have killed you too. I just got to her first.”

I looked down at Evelyn's face again. Her open eyes. Dried blood on her lips.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

“The contract,” Marcus said. “Julian's original contract with your father. It's in the penthouse safe. The code is your mother's birthday.” He smiled. “I've been watching you both for a long time. I know things Julian doesn't know I know.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then Julian wins. He gets his revenge on me through you. He gets his heir. And you spend the rest of your life as a trophy wife, never knowing if he loves you or just owns you.” Marcus walked toward the door. “Think about it. You have until sunrise.”

He stepped over Evelyn's body and disappeared into the night.

I stood alone in the destroyed living room, surrounded by blood and lies and the smell of death. My phone buzzed. Julian.

Where are you?

I typed back with shaking thumbs. I needed air. Coming home now.

You're lying. I can hear it in your texts. Stay where you are. I'm coming to get you.

The phone buzzed again before I could respond. A location pin. He was tracking me. Of course he was tracking me.

I looked at Evelyn. At the letters. At the photograph of Julian and my father.

Then I walked out the back door, into the alley, and disappeared into the dark.

The penthouse elevator opened ten minutes later. I had taken a roundabout route, changing taxis twice, making sure no one followed. The living room was empty. Julian's car was still gone.

I knew where the safe was. His bedroom closet, behind a false panel. I had seen him open it once, thought he didn't notice me watching.

He noticed everything.

The code was my mother's birthday. Marcus had been right about that too. I punched in the numbers, and the safe clicked open.

Inside: cash, passports, a gun. And a thick folder labeled MERCER.

I pulled it out and sat on the edge of Julian's bed. The bed where he slept. Where he probably dreamed. The bed I had never shared with him.

The first page was a contract between Julian Ashford and my father, dated two years ago. In exchange for one million dollars, Mr. Varma agrees to facilitate his daughter's introduction to Mr. Ashford's social circle and to provide access to her personal information, medical history, and daily schedule.

The second page: Additional payment of five hundred thousand dollars upon Mr. Varma's successful orchestration of his daughter's financial desperation, including but not limited to gambling debts, property loss, and emotional manipulation.

The third page: Mr. Ashford reserves the right to terminate this agreement at any time. In the event of termination, Mr. Varma will receive no further payments and will be held liable for all damages.

My hands were shaking so hard I could barely turn the pages. Page after page of evidence. Julian had bought my father. Paid him to destroy our lives so I would be desperate enough to sign the contract.

Everything—every tear, every sleepless night, every moment I thought I was the one in control—had been a lie.

The front door opened downstairs.

“Lena.” Julian's voice, cold and sharp. “I know you're here. The elevator logged your floor.”

I stood up, the folder clutched to my chest. His footsteps on the stairs. Each one closer than the last.

He appeared in the bedroom doorway, his face pale, his eyes wild. He had been running—his hair was damp, his tie loose around his neck.

“What happened?” he demanded. “Your grandmother's house is surrounded by police. There's blood everywhere. They're looking for you.”

“They won't find me.” I held up the folder. “Because I was never there.”

Julian's gaze dropped to the papers in my hand. Something flickered across his face—fear, maybe. Or guilt.

“Where did you get that?”

“Your safe.” My voice was calm. Too calm. “You shouldn't leave your birthday code as your mother's birthday. Too easy to guess.”

He took a step toward me. I took a step back.

“Lena, let me explain.”

“Explain what?” I opened the folder and pulled out the first page. “That you paid my father to ruin me? That you've been manipulating my life for two years?” My voice cracked. “That you knew my grandmother killed my mother and you never told me?”

Julian went completely still. “Evelyn told you that?”

“Evelyn is dead. Marcus killed her. Right before he told me everything.” I threw the folder at his feet. Papers scattered across the floor like dead leaves. “You used me. Just like her. Just like everyone.”

“That's not true.” Julian's voice was rough, urgent. “The contract with your father—yes, I paid him. I needed you desperate enough to come to me. But I didn't know about your grandmother. Not until after we were married.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I expect you to listen.” He took another step, and this time I didn't move. “My father murdered dozens of people. Your grandmother was one of his clients. She paid him to make the accident look like a hit-and-run. I found out two weeks ago. I was trying to find proof before I told you.”

“You should have told me immediately.”

“And watch you run off to get yourself killed?” Julian's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. “Evelyn was dangerous, Lena. She would have killed you the second you stopped being useful. Marcus saved you from that, but only because he wants to use you himself.”

I tried to pull away. His grip tightened.

“Let go of me.”

“No.” He pulled me closer, until my chest pressed against his. His other hand came up to cup my face, forcing me to look at him. “I have done terrible things. I paid your father. I manipulated your life. I married you for revenge against a woman who was already dead.” His thumb traced my cheekbone. “But I did not kill your mother. I did not lie about wanting you. And I will spend the rest of my life making this right if you let me.”

“I don't want your promises.” Tears burned my eyes. “I want the truth.”

“The truth is, I love you.” His voice broke on the last word. “I didn't plan it. I didn't want it. But somewhere between your lies and your courage and the way you look at me like I'm already dead, I fell in love with you.”

I stared at him. The man who had destroyed my life. The man who had saved my sister. The man who was looking at me like I was the only thing keeping him alive.

“You love me,” I repeated. “Or you love the idea of owning me?”

“There's no difference.” He pressed his forehead against mine. “Not for me.”

I closed my eyes. His breath warmed my lips. His hand was still on my face, his fingers tangled in my hair. I should have pushed him away. I should have run. Instead, I stood there, trembling, while the man who had ruined everything whispered my name like a prayer.

“Lena. Please.”

I opened my eyes.

“Show me,” I said. “If you really want me to trust you, show me the proof about my grandmother. All of it. No more secrets.”

Julian nodded slowly. “Tomorrow. I'll give you everything.”

“Not tomorrow.” I pulled back, just enough to see his face. “Now.”

He took my hand and led me to the safe. From the back, behind the passports, he pulled out a USB drive.

“This is everything,” he said. “Bank records. Emails. Witness statements. Your grandmother's confession, recorded three months ago.” He placed the drive in my palm. “If you want to go to the police, I'll go with you. If you want to burn it and walk away, I'll help you do that too.”

I looked at the small black drive in my hand. The truth. Real truth, not the version Marcus wanted me to believe.

“Why are you giving this to me?” I asked.

“Because you asked.” Julian's eyes held mine. “And because I'm tired of lying.”

A crash came from downstairs. Glass breaking. Footsteps.

Julian pushed me behind him, his body blocking the bedroom door. “Stay here.”

“Who is it?”

He didn't answer. He walked to the door, his hand reaching for the gun he kept in his nightstand.

The footsteps stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Julian.” Marcus's voice floated up, calm and amused. “I know Lena is with you. I also know you're holding something that belongs to me.”

Julian's jaw tightened. “You're not welcome here, Marcus.”

“I'm not here for you.” A pause. “I'm here for the USB drive. The one with Evelyn's confession. Give it to me, and I'll let you both live.”

Julian looked back at me. The drive was still in my hand.

“Don't,” I whispered.

He nodded once. Then he stepped through the doorway and started down the stairs.

“Julian, no—”

Gunshots.

Two of them. Loud and final.

I ran to the top of the stairs.

Julian lay at the bottom, blood spreading across his white shirt. Marcus stood over him, a smoking gun in his hand.

“Sorry, brother,” Marcus said, looking up at me. “But you should have stayed out of my way.”

He started climbing the stairs.

And I was alone.