His Ruthless Temptation

Chapter Three

I sat at the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the TV, trying to make sense of it all. I wasn't naive—this couldn't just be coincidence. The prison incident? Maybe it wasn't connected to me directly, but what happened at the club felt personal. Two men dead. One missing. Not just anyone—Caleb, the guy I had only spoken to for an hour before he vanished. My stomach tightened.

I grabbed my phone, my heart pounding. Selene had already texted, her worry evident: "You need to get out of New York, now." She was right. I had to leave.

I quickly replied, urging her to go back to Boston. I wasn't going to let her stay in the city with everything spiraling out of control. She saw the men—she hadn't been at the club when I met Caleb but she knew about him. She needed to be safe, far from this mess.

Once I knew she was on her way, I tried piecing things together. Was someone trying to scare me? Could this be connected to the trial I'd just won? Or was it tied to one of my other cases? My mind spun through every possibility, but nothing made sense. Why was I being targeted?

I called the Manhattan DA's office, reporting the club incident. Their concern was evident, though they didn't seem surprised. "It might be best to lay low for a while," they said, confirming what I already knew.

I had already decided. New York wasn't safe for me anymore. I hung up, feeling an odd sense of detachment. My career, my cases—it all felt meaningless now. I wasn't worried about work or deadlines. This had become personal. My life was at risk.

I rushed through a shower, tying my hair quickly, already moving toward the closet. I grabbed a pair of grey joggers and a simple white t-shirt, sliding into my sneakers with one thought—leave the city.

I packed quickly, tossing in clothes, my passport, and essentials. I didn't care where I was headed, as long as it was far from here. I'd never felt so out of control, but I had no choice.

My phone buzzed again—a message from Selene. I reassured her, telling her I'd keep her updated, but deep down, I was terrified. New York had always been home, but now it felt like a trap. The weight of knowing someone out there wanted to hurt me was suffocating.

I grabbed my suitcase, took one last look around the apartment, and stepped into the taxi waiting outside.

At the airport, everything moved quickly—check-in, security, all of it felt robotic. The weight of everything happening still pressed on me, but I had to stay calm.

This was my life now—the risks of my career: unfortunately, I hadn't chosen to defend criminals, but to put them behind bars. Selene was on her way back to Boston, and I was trying to convince myself that leaving was the right decision, even if my anxiety gnawed at me.

After check-in, I found a quiet café. The aroma of coffee and pastries helped calm my nerves. I ordered coffee and a croissant, retreating to a corner table. My fingers trembled as I plugged in my earphones, desperate for a distraction from the fear gnawing at me. The investigation would be over in two weeks, I told myself. The truth would come out. Yet, my anxiety lingered.

The café was unusually busy for this time of the day, but I didn't care. I focused on my laptop, sipping my coffee, trying to lose myself in a mindless show. For a while, it worked. I managed to relax.

Then something felt wrong. Too quiet. I pulled out my earphones, the sudden silence making my skin crawl. Looking up, I realized the café had nearly emptied. The once-bustling crowd was gone. Then I saw him.

He was sitting right across from me. Dressed in a sleek, tailored suit that couldn't have been further from the prison uniform he wore just a day before. He hadn't moved an inch, his posture confident, his expression calm. His sharp features looked even more severe under the soft café lighting, like a predator waiting to pounce. His eyes—those unsettling, ice-cold blue eyes—locked onto mine.