Chapter 6 6

The rain in Manhattan came down in violent, sideways sheets, turning the evening commute into a gridlocked nightmare.

Ayla stood under the narrow awning of a deli, shivering in her black business suit. The fabric was soaked through, clinging to her freezing skin.

She had spent the entire day visiting the top three divorce litigation firms in the city.

Every single managing partner had taken one look at the name "Axel Farrell" on her intake form and politely shown her the door.

Her burner phone vibrated in her pocket.

It was an anonymous email from Jared, Axel's assistant.

Ayla opened it. It was a high-resolution photo.

The photo showed the three managing partners she had just visited, standing on a private golf course in the Hamptons, laughing and drinking scotch with Axel.

It was a psychological kill shot. Axel was showing her that she was trapped in a cage he owned.

Ayla let out a harsh, bitter laugh. She deleted the email and looked across the flooded street.

The neon sign flickered through the rain: The Obsidian Lounge.

It was a notorious, ultra-exclusive underground speakeasy. The kind of place where Wall Street predators made blood pacts.

Ayla crossed the street, ignoring the water soaking into her heels.

She walked down the concrete stairs and stood in front of the heavy iron door. The facial recognition scanner swept her face. The system registered her instantly. Her access wasn't tied to the Farrell Group, but to an old, ironclad PR contract she'd personally negotiated for the lounge's reclusive owner-a man who despised Axel. Her clearance was untouchable. The door clicked open.

The inside of the lounge was dark, smelling heavily of aged cigar smoke and expensive bourbon. Low jazz played over the speakers.

Ayla walked to the furthest, darkest corner of the marble bar and sat down.

"Cheapest bourbon you have," she told the bartender, wrapping her numb fingers around the glass when it arrived to steal its meager warmth.

She pulled her tablet out of her waterproof bag and opened the dossiers the headhunter had sent her.

She needed a target.

She felt a heavy, suffocating weight press against the side of her face. A stare so intense it felt physical.

Ayla turned her head slightly.

In the VIP booth to her right, cloaked in deep shadows, sat a man.

He was wearing a pitch-black dress shirt, the top two buttons undone. His long, scarred fingers were slowly, rhythmically turning a crystal glass of amber liquid.

The dim light caught the watch on his wrist. A Richard Mille military-grade limited edition.

Ayla looked away immediately. She didn't have time for arrogant billionaires looking for a hookup. She stared back at her tablet.

The bartender walked over and tapped a leather checkbook on the bar in front of her.

"Miss, this section has a two-thousand-dollar minimum spend," the bartender said, his tone dripping with elitist disdain.

Ayla's stomach tightened. She had the cashier's checks, but she only had about four hundred dollars in physical cash left from buying the burner phone.

"I'll move," Ayla said, reaching for her bag.

Before her fingers could touch the strap, a solid black Centurion card slid across the marble bar, pinning the checkbook down.

Ayla's breath hitched.

The man from the shadows was suddenly standing right next to her. He moved with the terrifying, silent grace of an apex predator.

"Put it on my tab," a voice rumbled. It was deep, gravelly, and laced with absolute authority.

Ayla spun around, her muscles tensing defensively. "I don't need your charity. What do you want?"

The man leaned down slightly. The dim light finally hit his face.

He looked like a fallen angel carved from marble. Pale, sharp jawline, and a faint, jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow.

Cassius didn't look at her face. His dark, dangerous eyes dropped to the glowing screen of her tablet.

He was looking at the financial acquisition blueprints for the Gilliam Group.

A slow, wicked smirk pulled at the corner of Cassius's mouth.

"You have good taste," Cassius murmured, his voice sending a shiver down Ayla's spine. "But Gilliam's firewalls aren't that easy to hack."

Ayla's heart slammed against her ribs. She slammed the tablet shut.