Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: The Edge of the Blade

Lila Hart stumbled out of the Thorn Enterprises tower into the damp Manhattan night, the security goons' grip still a phantom ache on her arms. The air was thick with exhaust and the faint tang of rain, streetlights smearing into halos on the wet pavement. She yanked her jacket tighter, adrenaline buzzing like a live wire under her skin. Caspian Thorn's voice still echoed in her head—Then we'll burn together—and that smirk, that damn smirk, was burned into her retinas. She'd lost the flash drive, her shot at the safe, and any shred of dignity, but she wasn't done. Not by a long shot.She ducked into a bodega two blocks down, the fluorescent hum and stale coffee smell grounding her. Her phone buzzed in her pocket—three missed calls from Jamie, her editor and the closest thing she had to a conscience. She swiped to call back, pacing past a rack of stale chips."Where the hell have you been?" Jamie's voice crackled through, sharp with worry. "You said you'd check in after the gala.""Got held up," Lila said, fishing a crumpled five from her pocket for a coffee she didn't want. "Literally. Thorn's security tossed me out."A beat of silence, then a groan. "Jesus, Lila. You broke in?""Technically, I walked in. With a tray." She smirked, though it didn't reach her eyes. "He caught me in his office. Safe's biometric—couldn't crack it. But I got a drive into his system for about ten seconds before he yanked it."Jamie swore under her breath. "And you're still breathing? That's a miracle. What'd he say?"Lila hesitated, the memory of Caspian's breath against her ear flashing hot and unbidden. "He dared me to keep digging. Arrogant bastard thinks he's untouchable.""He is," Jamie said flatly. "Thorn Enterprises has more lawyers than we have subscribers. You're poking a dragon with a toothpick.""Then I'll find a bigger stick." Lila dumped sugar into the coffee, stirring too hard. "He's hiding something, Jamie. I felt it. That deal's dirty—I just need proof.""You need a shower and a lawyer, in that order. Come by the office tomorrow. We'll figure out what's next."Lila hung up, staring at the black swirl in her cup. Next meant regrouping, chasing leads, anything to claw her way back into Caspian's orbit. She'd lost tonight, but she'd seen his eyes—those storm-gray depths had flickered, just for a second, with something real. Doubt? Desire? She'd use it, whatever it was.Back at her shoebox apartment in Bushwick, she kicked off her sneakers and flopped onto the sagging couch, laptop balanced on her knees. The gala's afterglow was already trending online—photos of Caspian shaking hands, all polished charm. She scrolled, jaw tight, until a grainy shot caught her eye: him by the window, mid-conversation, a shadow of tension in his posture. She zoomed in, studying the hard line of his mouth. Not the face of a man who'd won. The face of a man who'd dodged something.Her phone pinged—a text from an unknown number. Check your mailbox. No signature, no context. Her gut twisted. She grabbed her keys and bolted downstairs, the rusted mailbox creaking as she pried it open. Inside was a plain envelope, no address, just her name in sharp black ink. She tore it open, heart thudding.A single photo slid out: her, mid-stride in the gala stairwell, caught on a security cam. On the back, a scrawled note: Next time, knock. Below it, a flash drive—her flash drive, the one Caspian had tossed. She stared, breath shallow. He'd had her followed. He'd sent this. A warning—or a dare?She raced back upstairs, plugged the drive into her laptop, and held her breath. A single file popped up: audio, thirty seconds long. She hit play. Static, then Caspian's voice, clipped and cold: "—move the timeline up. Brooklyn's locked. No loose ends." A second voice, gravelly, unfamiliar: "What about the whistleblower?" Caspian again: "Handled. Permanently."The file cut off. Lila sat back, pulse roaring. Brooklyn. Loose ends. Handled. It wasn't a smoking gun, but it was a spark—enough to light a fire if she could find the fuel. She burned a copy to her hard drive, then hid the original in a hollowed-out book on her shelf. Caspian thought he'd scared her off. He'd just handed her a weapon.Sleep didn't come easy. When it did, it was restless, fractured by dreams of gray eyes and glass towers crumbling. She woke to a text from Jamie: Office, 9 a.m. Bring coffee. Lila dragged herself up, showered, and pulled on jeans and a leather jacket—armor for the day ahead. The subway rattled her into Manhattan, the city waking in a haze of steam and horns.The Daily Pulse office was a dump—peeling paint, flickering lights, a newsroom that smelled like burnt coffee and desperation. Jamie was at her desk, red hair a frizzy halo, glasses perched on her nose. She looked up as Lila dropped a coffee cup in front of her."You look like hell," Jamie said, sipping. "What happened after we talked?"Lila slid the photo across the desk, then played the audio on her phone. Jamie's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Holy shit. Where'd you get this?""Thorn sent it. Dropped it in my mailbox like a damn cat leaving a dead bird."Jamie leaned back, chewing her lip. "He's baiting you. Why?""Because he's a control freak who gets off on the game." Lila paced, restless. "Or he's testing me. Either way, I've got something he doesn't want out there.""It's not enough," Jamie said, pragmatic as ever. "No names, no specifics. We need context—dates, players, proof 'permanently' means what we think it does.""Then I go back in," Lila said, voice hard. "He's got an event tonight—some rooftop thing for investors. I'll crash it."Jamie groaned. "You're insane. He'll have you arrested.""Not if I'm smart." Lila grinned, reckless. "I'll blend in. No trays this time—just a dress and a plan."By dusk, she'd traded jeans for a thrift-store black dress—simple, slinky, good enough to pass—and a pair of heels that pinched. The rooftop venue was a fortress of glass and steel, fairy lights strung across a terrace overlooking the Hudson. She slipped in with a group of late arrivals, heart pounding as she scanned the crowd. No sign of Caspian yet, just suits and sequins, laughter too loud over the thrum of jazz.She snagged a glass of wine she wouldn't drink, moving toward the edge of the terrace. The city sprawled below, a glittering beast she'd never tamed. Then a shadow fell over her, and she knew before she turned."Miss Hart," Caspian said, voice a low drawl. He stood too close, suit dark as midnight, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. "You don't give up, do you?"She met his gaze, unflinching. "Not when there's blood on the table."His eyes flickered—surprise, maybe, or recognition. "Careful," he murmured, stepping closer, heat radiating off him. "You're playing with sharper edges than you think."She smirked, though her pulse betrayed her. "Good thing I've got a steady hand."He studied her, a predator sizing up a rival, then leaned in, lips brushing her ear like they had last night. "Dance with me."It wasn't a request. Before she could argue, his hand was on her waist, guiding her into the sway of the crowd. The music wrapped around them, slow and sultry, and she hated how her body responded—tense, alive, aware of every point where they touched. His grip was firm, possessive, and his breath was warm against her temple."Why the audio?" she asked, voice low, testing him."To see what you'd do with it." His fingers tightened, just enough to make her breath hitch. "You didn't disappoint."She pulled back slightly, locking eyes. "What's your game, Thorn?""No game," he said, and for a second, she almost believed him. "Just a question: how far are you willing to go?"The song ended, but he didn't let go, and she didn't step away. The air between them crackled, a live wire she couldn't cut. "All the way," she said, and meant it.His smile was slow, dangerous. "Then let's see who falls first."