I bent to gather the documents, a single page caught my eye. My father’s signature was scrawled at the bottom, but above it, in bold letters, was a name I didn’t recognize: Blackthorn Industries.
My blood ran cold. The whispers I’d heard about Blackthorn were enough to make even the bravest men tremble. This wasn’t just a merger. It was a deal with the devil.
And I was standing in the crossfire.
The sound of the door slamming shut snapped me out of my thoughts. Nathaniel’s final words echoed in my mind like a curse.
"Don’t test me, Tiffany," I whispered to myself, clutching the papers to my chest.
But I couldn’t ignore the voice in my head, the one screaming at me to dig deeper. Whatever secrets Nathaniel was keeping, they were worth risking everything to uncover.
I turned to leave, a faint sound stopped me in my tracks—a soft, almost imperceptible whisper.
"You should have stayed out…"
My breath caught as I spun around, but the room was empty. The shadows seemed darker now, the air colder.
I hurried out, my pulse racing. I didn’t need another warning. I was already in too deep.
And I had no intention of backing down.
"Tiffany, you still trust him, don’t you?"
Lucas's voice hit me like a stone in the silence of the dimly lit café. His words weren’t a question—they were an accusation wrapped in disbelief. I gripped my cup tighter, the ceramic painfully cool against my palm.
"Lucas," I began cautiously, keeping my tone even, "why would you even say that?"
His sharp green eyes pierced through me like blades. Lucas had always been intense, but this? This was something else—something darker. He leaned forward, his elbows digging into the wooden table.
"Because I know him, Tiff. I know what he’s capable of."
My breath hitched, and I couldn’t stop the wave of unease that crawled up my spine. The Lucas I remembered was warm, charming, always quick to throw a protective arm around me. This version of him felt colder, his words dripping with disdain.
"Nathaniel isn’t who you think he is," Lucas pressed, his voice lowering to an almost conspiratorial whisper.
I raised an eyebrow, trying to hide my mounting frustration. "So what? He’s not perfect? Who is?"
"You’re not listening," he snapped, his fist hitting the table. The loud crack drew a few curious glances from other patrons. Lucas didn’t care. "I’m saying he’s dangerous."