Genevieve arrived at the restaurant ten minutes late, her nerves coiled like a spring. Marcus was already seated at their usual table, his face tight with irritation. She slid into the chair opposite him, avoiding his scrutinizing gaze.
"You're late," he said curtly, sipping from his glass of red wine.
"Traffic," she replied, though the excuse sounded hollow even to her own ears.
The waiter appeared, but Marcus waved him off, his attention fixed solely on her.
"What's going on, Genevieve?" he asked, his tone teetering between concern and accusation. "You've been distant. Distracted. Is there something you're not telling me?"
She hesitated, the weight of her double life pressing down on her. Images of Brandstone—his touch, his voice, the way he made her feel—flashed through her mind, and shame mingled with desire.
"I've been under a lot of pressure with the investigation," she said finally, deflecting.
Marcus studied her, his eyes narrowing. "And that pressure has nothing to do with the man I saw you with at the gala?"
Her stomach dropped. "You were there?"
"Of course I was. It's my job to know what my reporters are up to." He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Who is he, Genevieve? And what does he have to do with your story?"
She opened her mouth to lie but stopped herself. The truth, or some version of it, might be safer here.
"He's... someone tied to the case," she admitted. "I'm following a lead."
Marcus frowned. "And you couldn't tell me about this? You're jeopardizing not just your career but the integrity of the entire investigation. Do you understand that?"
"I know what I'm doing," she snapped, her frustration bubbling over. "I don't need you to micromanage me."
Marcus leaned back, his expression darkening. "This isn't just about the story, is it?"
Genevieve's silence was answer enough.
The tension between them was palpable, the once-familiar comfort of their relationship now a chasm neither seemed willing to cross. Finally, Marcus shook his head, his voice low and bitter.
"I hope he's worth it."
Genevieve returned to her apartment that night, her emotions a tangled mess of guilt, anger, and longing. She had barely closed the door when her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Come to 89th and Lexington. Now.
Her heart skipped. It was Brandstone.
Against her better judgment, she grabbed her coat and headed out into the night.
The address led her to a dimly lit bar tucked between two towering office buildings. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and low conversation. Brandstone was at a corner table, his presence commanding even in the shadowy room.
"You came," he said, his voice smooth and confident.
"Why am I here?" she asked, sliding into the seat across from him.
He smirked, sliding a glass of whiskey toward her. "Because you couldn't stay away."
She ignored the drink, her eyes narrowing. "You're making this more complicated than it needs to be."
"Complicated is my specialty," he replied, his tone laced with amusement.
Genevieve leaned forward, her frustration boiling over. "What do you want from me, Brandstone? Why did you call me here?"
His expression turned serious, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something darker.
"There's something you need to know," he said, his voice low. "About the people you're investigating."
Her pulse quickened. "What are you talking about?"
Brandstone hesitated, his gaze flickering around the room as if checking for unseen threats.
"They're not who you think they are," he said finally. "And if you keep digging, you're going to put yourself in danger."
Genevieve's breath hitched. "How do you know this?"
"I know because I've worked with them," he admitted, his tone heavy with regret. "I've seen what they're capable of. And trust me, Genevieve, you don't want to be their next target."
Her mind raced, the weight of his words sinking in. Brandstone wasn't just a player in her story—he was part of the very web she was trying to unravel.
"You're involved in this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, his jaw tightening. "Not by choice. But now that you're in my orbit, they'll see you as a threat, too."
Genevieve's chest tightened. She had always known her work came with risks, but this was different. This was personal.
"What do you expect me to do?" she demanded.
"Stay close to me," he said, his voice firm. "I can protect you."
Her laugh was bitter. "You think I'm just going to trust you after everything?"
Brandstone leaned across the table, his dark eyes burning into hers. "You don't have a choice, Genevieve. You're in this now, whether you like it or not."
That night, as she lay in bed, Genevieve couldn't shake the feeling that her world was spinning out of control. She had started this investigation seeking truth, but now she was trapped in a web of lies, danger, and a man who both thrilled and terrified her.
And despite every warning bell in her head, she knew she was falling deeper into Brandstone's shadowed world.