Page 43 of His Dark Pull

The morning light filters through the dusty blinds, casting a pale glow on the kitchen table where I sit nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee. The events of the previous night replay in my mind, a chaotic montage of flashing lights, drunken accusations, and the painful realization that my life has become entangled in a web of criminal activity.

No more, though. I’ve made that clear.

A soft knock on the door startles me from my thoughts. I rise from the table, my movements stiff and hesitant, and make my way to the entrance. Peering through the peephole, I see Tyler standing on the other side, his blond hair tousled, his eyes bloodshot, and his usually impeccable suit rumpled and stained. He looks like a man who has spent the night wrestling with his demons, not the polished, confident lawyer I know.

“Ava, I—” He stops, his words catching in his throat. His eyes are bloodshot, and I can smell the stale scent of last night’s mistakes clinging to him. “I’m so sorry about last night. I was a mess. I didn’t mean— any of it.”

I step aside, allowing him to enter, and he follows me to the kitchen, his movements slow and deliberate as if each step carries his regret. I open the kitchen window, trying to air out his party stench.

“I’m here to apologize,” he continues, his gaze fixed on the steaming mug of coffee I place before him. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did—with the man on the dance floor, with you—with uhm, Alexander. I was out of line.” I nod, accepting his apology, though a part of me still feels the sting of his accusations.

“It’s okay,” I say, reaching out to place my hand on his arm. “I understand. But Alexander and I are not together anymore. We were— involved for a while, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him. I was afraid you’d be hurt.”

“Really?” he asks. “I was so sure that you two were still together. I didn’t know what to expect when I came here.”

“No, we’re not,”I confirm. “We ended things for good.”I pause, the memory of his drunken behavior resurfacing.

“But you can’t snoop around on my phone like that, Tyler, not even when you’re upset. Friends don’t do that.”

He lowers his gaze, shame coloring his cheeks. “I know,”he mumbles. “I made a huge mistake, Ava. Please forgive me. You know I’m not like that.”

He reaches out, his hand seeking mine across the table. “I don’t want to lose you, Ava. You’re—you’re one of my closest friends.”

I want to believe him, to forgive him, but the events of the previous night have cast a long shadow of doubt. I pull my hand back, unable to meet his touch.

How well do I know Tyler?Can I trust him not to let his emotions control him, to lash out in anger and accusations when things don’t go his way?

As I look into his eyes, searching for the man I once loved, I know that our relationship has changed. We are friends, yes, but the path forward is uncertain. I sit there as Tyler continues to apologize, his words a mixture of regret and a desperate plea for understanding. Just as I’m about to respond, my phone buzzes on the table, the screen illuminating with a message from an unknown number. I tense my muscles as I read the chilling words:“You’ve pissed off the boss. Snooping around the internet and the library, talking to Harvey through your little lawyer friend— you’ll suffer the consequences.”My blood runs cold, and my hands tremble as I reread the message, the threat hanging over me like a guillotine.

It’s Zoltan Kovacs.

I shove my phone into my pocket, forcing a smile as I turn back to Tyler, my mind racing. I can’t let him know. I can’t drag him any further into this mess.

“I, uh–”I shove my phone back into my pocket, my hand trembling. “I gotta run, Tyler. Work stuff.”

“But it’s Saturday,”he frowns. “Where are you going?”

“Work,”I lie, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “There’s a big project I need to finish, and I’m running out of time.”

He looks skeptical, but thankfully, he doesn’t press further. “Okay,”he says with a shrug. “I can drop you off if you want.”

“That would be great,”I reply, relaxing my shoulders. I just need to get out of my apartment, away from the feeling of being watched, of being a target.

I bite my lip.They know where I live. What if they come for me here?

We stand up, and I grab my coat from the hook by the door, my fingers brushing against the soft wool, a familiar comfort that does little to soothe me. As I slip on my shoes, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being followed, that Kovacs and his men are lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

To kill me.

I check my phone one last time, the message from Kovacs burning into my retinas.I have to get out of here.

The city is still waking up, the streetlights casting long shadows that fade with each passing minute. It’s a Saturday, so the usual rush of traffic is replaced by a sleepy quiet, broken only by the distant rumble of a delivery truck and the chirp of a lonely bird. As we pass Alexander’s mansion, my gaze snags on its imposing silhouette. The windows are dark and lifeless. A hollow ache echoes in my chest, just like the emptiness of his grand house.

Did he leave for good this time?

Pulling up to the Spectrum Design building, the modern glass and steel structure stands in contrast to the elegant, old-world charm of Alexander’s home we just drove by. It’s a haven of creativity and collaboration, a place where ideas come to life, but today, it feels more like a fortress, a place of refuge from whatever lurks just beyond its walls.

“Thanks, Tyler,” I say.

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