Page 14 of Dark Prince

Laurel feigns a look of shock. “All I heard is that some guy tried to take out your bride. Quite a twist of fate, huh?” She forces a laugh, telling me she's lying. She knows more than she’s saying.

I fix my gaze on her, trying to pierce through her evasiveness. “You're well-connected. You must have heard something that could help us.”

Laurel meets my stare, her expression composed, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Luk, darling, you give me too much credit. I'm just a socialite these days. What could I possibly know about assassination attempts?”

Her nonchalance grates on me, but before I can press further, Lev, standing just a stride behind me, leans in, his patience clearly worn thin.

“Cut the shit,” he interjects sharply. “We're not here to play games. Spill what you know—now. Your feeble attempts to deny it aren’t working.”

Laurel's posture stiffens, and she slowly reaches for her glass of champagne. “You’ve always had a way of getting straight to the point, Lev,” she says, her voice dripping with disdain.

Taking a sip, her eyes narrow as she sets the glass down with more force than necessary. “You think I'm behind this, that I would stoop so low?” Her tone is laced with anger and a hint of betrayal.

I can't help but interject, driven by frustration and a need to confront the past. “Given our history, it's not a stretch to think you might hold a grudge. You clearly are pissed that I ended our engagement.”

She looks at me with contempt. “Me, hold a grudge? Please, Luk, I'm so over you. But if you think I could have a hand in orchestrating something so vile, better think again.”

Laurel reaches for her glass again. I can't help but note her extravagant drinking of champagne when I know she can’t afford it, and the fact that she's day drinking doesn't escape me either.

“You were always a suspicious son of a bitch,” she snarls. “Some things never change.”

I meet her gaze steadily, unflinching. “Tell me straight, no games. Did you have anything to do with the assassination attempt?”

Laurel slumps as if defeated. “No,” she states firmly, “I didn't have a damn thing to do with it.”

She pauses, letting her words hang in the air before continuing, a bitter edge to her voice. “But after what you did to me...” Her sentence trails off as she gathers her thoughts, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that's hard to ignore.

“You were supposed to be the savior of my family,” she finally says, her voice low but laden with accusation. “That all went down the toilet when you rejected me. Assassination isn't my style,” she adds, her tone defiant. “But there's no doubt in my mind that you're deserving of some sort of karmic punishment.”

Her words cut deep, revealing the depth of her resentment and the pain caused by our broken engagement. But despite her bitterness and the accusations thrown my way, I find myself believing her when she says she had nothing to do with the assassination attempt.

I take another glance around her apartment, noting clothing, takeout containers, and empty champagne bottles strewn here and there. Laurel, in her current state, looks like she’d have trouble planning a trip to buy more booze, let alone masterminding an attempt on Maura’s life.

Feeling a sense of closure on that front, I stand up, ready to put this uncomfortable situation behind me.

“I'm leaving,” I announce, my tone final.

“Wait,” Laurel calls out, a note of desperation in her voice.

I pause, half out the door, my instincts telling me just to walk away. Yet a part of me wonders if she might have some further information, something she's been holding back.

Lev, sensing my hesitation but ready to move on, nods at me. “I'll start the car,” he says and steps out past me, leaving me alone with Laurel.

Once Lev is gone, Laurel shifts her approach dramatically. Gone is the angry, wronged ex-fiancée; in her place is a woman trying to exude a sexy, sweet demeanor. “Look, yes, I'm mad at you for dumping me,” she starts, her voice softer, attempting to weave a seductive undertone into her words. “But that doesn't mean we can't come to another arrangement.”

She closes the distance between us with a sultry sway in her step, her eyes alight with a predatory hunger.

Her suggestion takes me aback, and my confusion is evident. Laurel leans forward, deliberately unbuttoning one of the top buttons of her shirt to reveal a hint of cleavage. “If we can't be husband and wife,” she says, her gaze locked on mine, “how about husband and mistress?”

Her proposal leaves me momentarily speechless. The audacity of it, the complete shift in her demeanor, is jarring.

“I've seen your Maura,” she purrs, her voice dripping with insinuation. “No doubt she's a prude, Luk. She couldn't possibly give you what you really like.” Her hand reaches out toward me in a provocative gesture below my waist, aiming to ignite a desire she assumes still lingers.

But I quickly avoid her touch and grab her wrist firmly, stopping her in her tracks. My grip is tight but controlled. “You should be grateful that all I did was dump you,” I say coldly, my words laced with a warning as I push her hand away.

“I know you never had real feelings for me,” I state flatly. “Your affair with Charlie Baird made that quite clear.”

The mention of Charlie, a now ex-employee of Ivanov Holdings, leaves her visibly shaken. It's the first time I've seen genuine concern flicker across her face since I walked into her apartment. Her attempt at seduction falls away, replaced by sudden worry.

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