Chapter 4- The Lunch Trap
808 Words
Chapter 4 — The Lunch Trap
By noon, the black envelope was still on my desk, the photograph staring back at me like an open wound.
Ethan had spent the morning pacing the office, running through scenarios—none of them good. “She’s playing you,” he’d said at least five times. “Lunch is just the opening move.”
But ignoring her wasn’t an option. If I didn’t show, she’d see it as weakness—or worse, confirmation of her suspicions.
So at 12:45, I found myself walking into La Belle Maison, one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, with Ethan shadowing me like a storm cloud in a tailored suit.
Marissa was already seated in a corner booth, a glass of red wine in hand. She stood when she saw me, her smile warm enough to fool anyone not paying attention.
“Lucas,” she said, gesturing for me to sit. “I’m so glad you came.”
Ethan remained standing at the edge of the table. She glanced at him, then back to me. “Does your bodyguard always join your lunch dates?”
“He’s not a bodyguard,” I said smoothly. “He’s my shadow.”
Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “How… poetic.”
---
The waiter took our orders—hers: seared scallops; mine: black coffee I had no intention of drinking. The moment he left, she leaned in, her elbows on the table.
“You’re different,” she said.
I gave a casual shrug. “People change.”
“Not this much.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Your posture is looser. Your temper is slower. And you hesitated when I mentioned Trent yesterday. The Lucas I know would’ve torn him apart on the spot.”
“I guess I’m mellowing with age.”
She reached into her bag and slid the photo across the table. “Or maybe you’re not Lucas at all.”
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My heartbeat thudded in my ears, but I forced myself to glance at the photo like it bored me. “That’s a good lookalike. I should hire them for parties.”
Her lips curved. “You can play coy if you want. But I don’t need to go to the board. Not if you give me what I want.”
“And what is that?”
Her gaze sharpened. “The Draycott merger. You’re going to vote against it.”
That threw me. “You’ve been pushing for it for months.”
“I was—until I realized what Draycott’s after.” She sipped her wine, her tone almost conversational. “They want control of Cross Enterprises’ shipping division. Once they have it, they’ll dismantle your father’s work piece by piece.”
I studied her carefully. Was this a ploy to gain leverage, or was she actually trying to protect the company?
“And why tell me instead of Lucas?” I asked.
Her smile returned, thin and knowing. “Because Lucas is… unavailable.”
---
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Ethan’s voice came through my earpiece, low and urgent.
“Lena—don’t react. Someone just entered the restaurant. He was at the crash site the night of the accident.”
Every muscle in my body tensed. “Where?” I whispered.
“Three tables behind you, at your ten o’clock.”
I shifted just enough to catch a glimpse in the mirror behind Marissa. A man in a gray suit sat alone, his hands folded neatly on the table. Clean-cut. Forgettable. The kind of man you’d overlook—unless you’d seen him watching your twin’s broken body on a rainy street.
Marissa followed my gaze. “Friend of yours?” she asked lightly.
“Not exactly.”
Her smile turned sharp. “Then maybe we should both be careful.”
---
By the time lunch ended, I had more questions than answers. Marissa’s warning about Draycott was either the truth or the most elaborate bait I’d ever seen. And the man in the gray suit… Ethan said he left moments after we did, vanishing into the crowd like smoke.
Back in the car, Ethan gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make the leather creak. “We’re being watched. Maybe followed.”
“So what now?” I asked.
He glanced at me, his jaw tight. “Now, we find out whether Marissa’s on our side—or just another knife aimed at your back.”
---
That night, I dreamed of the crash. Not the version the police described, but flashes of headlights in the rain, the screech of tires that weren’t mine, and a voice—low, cold—whispering my name.
Except in the dream, it wasn’t Lucas lying in the road.
It was me.
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- Writer
