11. Margot
11
MARGOT
T he message on my phone feels like a punch to the gut. I keep my expression neutral, my fingers tightening around the device as I flip it over, screen down. Grayson is watching me. I can feel it, the weight of his gaze, the barely contained curiosity radiating off him like heat.
I force my lips into a smirk, tilting my head. "Enjoying the show, King?"
He leans back in his chair, swirling his water with lazy amusement. "I don’t know. That depends. Are you about to crack under pressure? Because that would be entertaining."
I scoff, reaching for my wine glass. "Please. You wish."
He watches me closely, eyes sharp. "Then what’s with the death grip on your phone, sweetheart?"
I sip my wine, ignoring the way my pulse is still racing. Don’t let him see. That’s the number one rule when dealing with Grayson. Never let him catch a moment of weakness.
"Wouldn’t you like to know?" I purr, setting my glass down with deliberate slowness.
He smirks, but there’s something calculating behind it. "I would, actually."
I don’t doubt that. Grayson loves prying under my skin, unraveling me piece by piece. Too bad for him, I’ve spent years perfecting the art of keeping him at arm’s length. The waiter arrives, placing our food in front of us. The tension lingers, thick and unspoken. I pick up my fork, stabbing a piece of grilled salmon with more force than necessary.
"You’re unusually quiet, Evans," Grayson muses, cutting into his steak. "Something on your mind?"
Yes. Something, or someone, just blew up my entire strategy in a single text. "Just trying to figure out why you brought me here," I lie smoothly. "I know you, Grayson. You don’t do anything without an ulterior motive."
He grins. "Now that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all day."
I roll my eyes, but internally, I’m still unraveling. Because the truth is, I don’t have time to play whatever game Grayson is setting up, not when something far more dangerous is brewing. I take another sip of wine, pretending I don’t feel his gaze burning into me. But as much as I hate to admit it, Grayson isn’t my biggest problem anymore. Not after that message.Not afterhetexted me.And if Grayson figures out who it was?This war between us is about to become so much more than just business.
When Grayson looks away for a moment, probably to flash his signature smirk at the waitress, I flip my phone over and glance at the message again, my stomach twisting into knots.
Unknown Number: Miss me, Margot? Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you.
My grip tightens around the device. The text is simple, almost harmless if you didn’t know better. But I do. Because I know exactly who sent it.
Liam Carter. We met in law school, back when I still believed in structured plans and carefully laid-out futures. He was charming in that effortless, golden-boy way, always knowing exactly what to say, always making me feel like I was the most important person in the room. For a while, I let myself believe in the fantasy that he was the right choice, that we made sense.
But Liam had a way of controlling things without making it look like control. Small things at first, correcting how I phrased an argument, dismissing my ideas as ‘cute’ before spinning them as his own. Then, bigger things showing up unannounced when I had late nights, subtly pressuring me into choices I wasn’t sure I wanted.
By the time I realized how deep I was in, I felt like I was suffocating. So I did the only thing I could. I walked away. And Liam didn’t take it well. At first, he played the heartbroken ex, calling, begging for closure. Then, he became resentful, showing up at events I attended, making sure I saw him with someone new. And when I still refused to engage, he got angry. Threatening my career, my reputation, anything he could use as leverage to pull me back in.
It took months to cut ties completely. Months of ignored calls, blocked numbers, and even changing my phone number to ensure he couldn’t find a way back in. I made sure there was no trace of me in his world. And yet, after all this time, he’s back. How did he get my new number? How did he even know where to find me? A cold chill creeps down my spine. This isn’t a coincidence. Liam never let things go easily. And if he’s reaching out now, it means he’s been watching, waiting. For what, I have no idea. But if he’s found me once, he can do it again.
I glance at Grayson, who’s busy cutting his steak, completely unaware that my entire world just tilted sideways. A part of me, one I refuse to acknowledge, wants to tell him. To let him in, to confess that, for the first time in a long time, I feel the stirrings of fear.But I can’t. Because that would mean giving Grayson something too dangerous. Leverage. Instead, I inhale deeply, forcing a slow exhale as I type out a response.
Margot: Lose my number, Liam.
I hesitate, then delete it. No. That’s what he wants, a reaction. Instead, I lock my phone and push it away, reaching for my wine like nothing happened.
"You sure you’re not going to crack?" Grayson asks, his voice light, teasing.
I arch a brow. "You’d have to try a lot harder than this." But my pulse is still racing, my mind spinning with the implications. Liam is back and something tells me he isn’t going away quietly. The real question is what does he want, and how long before Grayson figures out that something is very wrong.