Page 1 of Stalked By the Lawyer

CHAPTERONE

Logan

My footsteps resonateagainst the stone as I approah one of my wealthiest client’s door.

The mansion looms before me, its presence imposing under the cloak of twilight. It's an architectural masterpiece, with soaring columns that stand like sentinels guarding the secrets within. This house, with its manicured gardens and a facade kissed by moonlight, whispers of old money and quiet power.

I pause at the double oak doors, their intricate carvings a testament to the grandeur beyond. My fingers graze over the brass knocker, feeling the cool metal against my skin. With a practiced motion, I announce my arrival, the sound sharp in the crisp evening air.

The door swings open, and I step over the threshold into this world of elegance. Shadows dance across marble floors, and chandeliers glitter from above, casting prisms of light that flicker like stars fallen from the heavens.

The door's echo fades as my gaze lifts to meet my client. He stands before me, a figure carved from the same stern granite as his home. His handshake is an iron clamp, unyielding and cold—a silent assertion of dominance.

"Logan," he says, voice deep like the rumble of distant thunder. "Come in."

I step forward, the air shifting around me as I cross into his domain. No corner of this grand foyer escapes the meticulous touch of affluence. It's a vault of treasures where even the silence seems expensive.

Well, my clientsarerich, and that’s what makes me my money.

To my right, a grand staircase sweeps upward, its banister gleaming with the polish of careful hands. Above, a crystal chandelier presides like a crown jewel, each facet meticulously placed to scatter light across the expanse of marble below.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Mr. Brimming’s voice cuts through my reverie, a note of pride threading the otherwise stoic delivery.

"Indeed," I reply, my words measured, careful not to betray too much admiration. This chessboard of luxury is impressive, but I never let my clients know my real feelings—on anything.

In the spaces between shadows and light, ornate paintings watch over us, their subjects dressed in layers of historical finery. They whisper stories of legacy and time, of wealth passed down through generations. The furniture echoes this narrative. Each piece is a masterwork, from the plush velvet settees to the dark mahogany tables, all poised with aristocratic grace.

"Your collection is remarkable," I comment, knowing full well each item has been chosen to impress, to intimidate.

"Collected over many years," he replies, his tone dismissive, as if the effort to amass such splendor was nothing more than a trivial pastime.

I nod, allowing a brief smile to show my respect for the game he plays. Power resides here, not just in the tangible opulence, but in the unseen currents that run beneath the surface,

"Shall we begin?" I suggest.

"Of course." He turns, leading the way, and I follow, my senses sharpened. Clients don’t hire me for no reason. He’s hiding something, but he’ll pay me to clean up his mess.

We pore over his documents for at least an air before the air shifts. I look up and my gaze locks onto…my god, she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Long red hair that waves down her back. Big green eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. And holy fuck. Puffy pink lips that would make a sex doll envious.

I feel myself harden in my pants and shift to hide my growing erection. What the fuck? How can one look at this girl have me harder than I’ve been in years?

This flame-haired enigma holds more sway over me than she can possibly fathom.

“Ah, Logan, I’d like you to meet Jill, my daughter. Jill, come here for a minute.”

She steps into the light, an ethereal vision against the backdrop of her father's fortress. Her fiery red hair is an untamed cascade, a vibrant contrast to the muted opulence around us. It frames her face, a masterpiece painted with the softest brushstrokes of beauty—a beauty that doesn't beg but commands attention.

In that instant, as our eyes lock, it's as if the very pulse of the room synchronizes with mine.Electrified. A magnetic storm swirls between us, silent and unseen but potent enough to send shockwaves through the soles of my shoes. There's a gravity to her presence, pulling me into an orbit I have no desire to break free from.

Her curious gaze sweeps to me as he father introduces me.

"Hello, Logan," she breathes out my name, and it's not just a greeting but an incantation, imbuing the syllables with a power that resonates deep within my chest.

"Jill." The word is a caress, spoken with a reverence reserved for sacred things, for desires whispered in the dark.

We stand there, the space between us charged with the unsaid—the unyielding tension of want colliding with the impossibility of the situation. She's the flame, and I’m too enthralled to consider the searing consequence of getting too close. But oh, how I yearn to be burnt by that fire.

The world resumes its spin, the murmur of Brimming’s voice filters back, but it’s just a shadow at the edge of my consciousness. My focus remains laser-sharp on the woman before me, the one who has become the fulcrum of my every waking thought.

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