Chapter 3
1136 Words
The New York Trap
Lynette’s Pov
If Justin had delivered the request through email, I would’ve ignored it. Or pretended to.
But he didn’t—just three weeks after the scandal.
He came to my workstation himself. People actually moved out of his way as he approached, like he carried gravity around with him.
“Pack for New York,” he said without greeting. “You’re coming with me.”
I blinked at him. “I….what? Why?”
His eyes slid over my face, deliberate, almost searching. “I need efficiency.”
Just that. No explanation and no room for debate.
I should’ve said no. I should’ve insisted that HR was breathing down my neck thanks to that scandalous gossip pairing my name with his. I should’ve pointed out that going anywhere with him, especially overnight, was like feeding gasoline to a rumor bonfire.
But the entire office was staring.
And Justin didn’t look like a man who accepted no.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
He nodded once, as if he’d known I’d break. Then he walked away.
I was still packing up my workstation when Mira Belle intercepted me.
Mira, his assistant, the only person in the entire building who could look Justin Pierce in the eye and not flinch. She normally moved with a relaxed, almost lazy grace.
Today, her spine was rigid.
“You’re going to New York with him?” she asked.
I hesitated. “Yes.”
Her face tightened. “Then listen to me. Do not trust him.”
I felt something cold slip down my ribs. “Excuse me?”
She scanned the hallway before leaning in, her perfume sharp and expensive. “You have no idea what you’re stepping into. Whatever you think you know about Justin…” She shook her head. “Don’t be alone with him any more than you must.”
My mouth went dry. “Why?”
Her eyes softened with pity. “Because once he pulls you in, he doesn’t let go.”
I opened my mouth to demand answers, but she was already walking away.
And I stood there, suitcase handle trembling under my fingers.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The private jet should’ve been an awesome experience. Instead, all I could think about was Mira’s warning.
Justin sat across from me, laptop open, but his eyes… his eyes weren’t on his screen.
They were on me.
He watched me with a quiet, unsettling intensity as if memorizing the lines of my face was part of a task.
Once, our eyes met. His jaw tightened before he looked away.
Something was wrong with him. Or with this trip. Or with everything.
I tried to focus on the stack of reports he’d asked me to review, but the air felt too weird, like a storm waiting to break.
“Is everything alright?” I finally asked.
His gaze flicked to mine again “Depends.”
“On what?”
He didn’t answer.
The silence pressed on my skin like warm hands.
At the hotel, our rooms ended up being side-by-side, of course—because the universe had a sense of humor.
I tried to act normal inside the elevator, but Justin stood so close behind me that his breath brushed the back of my neck. The reflection in the mirrored wall made everything worse.
He was staring.
I felt him move closer. His hand lifted, hesitated… as if he were about to touch a strand of my hair.
My breath caught.
His fingers grazed the air near my shoulder, slow, deliberate….then he snapped back as if burned.
“Forget it,” he muttered.
The moment shattered. He stepped away from me, jaw clenched so tightly the muscles spasmed.
I didn’t breathe until the doors opened.
The merger meeting was held in a high-rise conference room with glass walls and a skyline view that should’ve been distracting enough to keep me from noticing anything strange.
But I did.
A man, pretending to check his phone, subtly angled it toward Justin.
Then toward me.
Every few minutes, he repositioned himself, snapping photos like he was cataloging evidence.
Justin didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and didn’t care.
The entire meeting felt off. Justin’s responses were sharp, short while his uncle, Henry Stonebridge frequently made hostile or critical comments.
During a break, I wasn’t even trying to eavesdrop when I heard it.
It was his uncle’s voice. He sounded l irritated. “Another distraction, Justin? Really?”
Justin’s reply was quiet enough I couldn’t make out the words, but Henry scoffed. “You’re slipping. Everyone can see it.”
Silence.
Then Henry added, “And if she becomes another liability, don’t expect me to clean up the fallout this time.”
My stomach dropped.
I had no idea whether the she was me but I knew.
Deep down, I knew.
By evening, I felt wrung out. All I wanted was hot tea and silence.
So when Justin asked me to bring the financial drafts to his room, I didn’t overthink it. It was work. That was all.
His suite was twice the size of mine. The living area was dimly lit, curtains half-open, revealing Manhattan glowing like a field of stars. His jacket hung over one of the chairs, his tie discarded on the coffee table.
He wasn't home.
The documents were heavy in my arms, so I set them down on the nearest surface—his desk.
That’s when I saw it.
His laptop was open and unlocked. A folder sat on the screen titled simply: Lyn.
That was my name.
My blood turned iced.
I should’ve looked away and his respected privacy. But my hand moved before my brain did.
I clicked and my brain stopped.
There were photos—dozens.
Some I recognized from the office. But others…others were not from work.
Me leaving my apartment, buying groceries, sitting on a park bench six months ago, talking to my mother outside her clinic, asleep on the train.
A fear rippled through my body.
There were timestamps, notes, locations.
Nothing about this was normal.
My heart hammered so hard I felt dizzy.
A sickening, suffocating feeling wrapped around my ribs.
I didn’t hear the footsteps at first. But I felt the shift in the room—the cold shadow falling over me.
I turned slowly.
Justin was standing in the doorway.
His expression was unreadable.
But his eyes were cold and nothing like the man in the elevator.
“That,” he said quietly, stepping toward me, “isn’t what you think.”
I swallowed, backing away without meaning to. “Sir……what is this?”
He shut the door behind him with a soft click that made my heart stutter.
Then he murmured, voice low, dangerous “But now that you’ve seen it… we have a problem.”
- Writer
