Page 3 of Sinful Lies

2:42.

“Pauline Dupont,” she began, her eyes steady on mine. “An actress working at The Sunflower on 42nd Street—your theater.Found dead in her apartment three months ago. A bullet between her eyes, a gun in her hand. Ruled a suicide. And you even gave a statement to the press about her mental health struggles.”

“Poor woman did struggle,” I said, the corner of my mouth twitching upward in a ghost of a smile.

“But your COO, Miss Jade Whitenhouse, seems to disagree. She claims you’re the one who pulled the trigger.”

At the mention of her name, something sharp and ugly tore through my chest.

My throat tightened, my fists clenched against the cool metal of the table.

Jade.

Her face flashed before my eyes—too perfect, too intoxicating, and yet somehow marked with the stain of betrayal.

Her sleek black hair that always fell just right, her honey-drenched voice that could cut glass, the scent of her skin mingling with mine, long nails dragging down my back, pretty mouth kissing mine.

“She said that?”

“She did.”

A scoff left my lips, humorless and cold.

My thumb brushed along my jaw as the silence stretched between us.

The fire in my chest flared, scorching its way through my lungs.

Betrayal—raw and jagged—settled in my veins, thick and suffocating.

The weight of her whispers still lingered, those soft words that had once felt like salvation now echoing like a curse.

I love you too, Angelo.

Nausea coiled in my stomach, climbing my throat like a slow burn. It tasted like bile.

“Do you believe in love, Naomi?”

“No,” she whispered, a hint of doubt in her voice, like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Doyou?”

“If love is obsession,” I murmured, my voice slipping through the air like smoke, dark and thick, “then I am already drowning in its flames, trapped in the deepest circle of hell.”

I stood, slowly pulling my blazer from the back of the chair, letting the fabric fall over my shoulders.

Her gaze never wavered; I knew she was watching me, taking in every detail as if she couldn’t tear herself away.

I slid my cufflinks on one by one.

I could almost feel the flicker of admiration in her gaze, the way her lips parted slightly, almost imperceptibly.

“I never would’ve believed a man like you could ever fall in love,” she said, her voice softer now, as if she’d let a piece of herself slip.

I gave her a dark smirk, the kind that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Me neither, Naomi. Not until I met the devil herself.” I leaned in, as my voice dropped lower, darker. “She stole my soul, and now I’m willingly bound to her mercy… for all eternity.”

Her head tilted slightly to the side, her cheeks now a deep crimson.

I turned, the door opening in front of me.

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