Bina's survival instincts screamed. She took a sharp, involuntary step back, the heel of her shoe catching on the plush carpet. The small stumble was enough to break the spell. She needed distance. She needed air.
She forced her lungs to work, drawing in a breath that felt like shards of glass. "Mr. Scott," she said, her voice tight but impressively steady. "I don't understand what you mean. If you require legal services, my assistant, Maya, can schedule a formal consultation."
It was the right thing to say. The professional thing. It was a wall, and she was desperately trying to build it brick by brick between them.
Creed watched her, a flicker of something-amusement? interest?-in his dark eyes. He completely ignored her words. Instead, he walked past her, moving with a fluid, predatory grace. He went directly to her side of the massive conference table and sat down in the chair at its head. Her chair.
The act was so proprietary, so deliberately dominant, that a hot surge of anger shot through Bina's shock. That was her seat. He had no right.
His fingers, long and elegant, tapped a light, rhythmic pattern on the polished wood of the table. His gaze swept over the surface, landing on a single, thick folder her assistant had placed there for the meeting. The cover sheet was clearly visible.
Preston v. Scott Corporation. Re: Intellectual Property Dispute.
Bina's heart didn't just sink. It plummeted. The cold dread from the hotel room came rushing back, ten times stronger. It all clicked into place with sickening clarity.
He knew. He had known all along.
Creed picked up the folder. He didn't open it right away, instead weighing it in his hand as if judging its significance. Then he looked up at her, his expression unreadable. "Bina Sullivan. Graduated top five percent from Columbia Law. One of Gable & Finch's rising stars. Your specialty is intellectual property litigation, with a particular talent for defending the 'little guy' against corporate giants."
He had done his research. Every word was a perfectly aimed dart, stripping away her professional anonymity and leaving her exposed. The air in the room felt thin, and she struggled to breathe. She was no longer a lawyer meeting a potential client. She was prey, and the hawk was telling her exactly how it had tracked her down.
He finally opened the folder, his eyes scanning the first page with a dismissive air. He flipped it shut with a soft thud that echoed in the silent room.
"My demand is simple," he said, his voice dropping to a calm, reasonable tone that was more terrifying than any shout. He pushed the folder across the table toward her. "Drop the case."
The words hung in the air, cold and absolute.
Bina stared at him, stunned into silence. This was worse than she could have possibly imagined. He wasn't just some obsessive man from a one-night stand. He was using it. He was leveraging the most humiliating night of her life to threaten her career, to force her to betray her client, to compromise the very core of her professional ethics.
The anger that had been simmering inside her boiled over, eclipsing the fear. Her eyes, which had been wide with shock, narrowed into icy slits.
"Mr. Scott," she said, her voice dangerously quiet. "This is my job. I have a fiduciary duty to my client. I would never abandon a case for... personal reasons."
She loaded the last two words with as much contempt as she could muster, trying to throw his own sordid implication back in his face.
A slow, cold smile touched Creed's lips. He stood up and began to walk toward her again, closing the distance she had tried so hard to create. The pressure of his approach was suffocating. He was a storm system moving into a small, enclosed space, and she was right in its path.
He stopped in front of her, so close she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. He lifted a hand, and before she could react, his thumb brushed lightly against her lower lip. It was the same spot he had kissed so thoroughly the night before. The touch was feather-light, yet it felt like a brand, a possessive, menacing claim.
Bina flinched back as if burned, turning her head sharply to the side. "Don't touch me."
"Personal reasons?" he murmured, his voice a low caress that made her skin crawl. "That's not what you called them last night, Bina."
Shame and fury warred within her, a toxic cocktail that made her feel sick. "That was a mistake," she bit out, each word sharp and brittle.
"Was it?" His eyes turned cold, the brief flicker of warmth gone. "Then fix it with a correct decision now. Drop the case, and we're even. Our... mistake... will be forgotten."
He was offering her a deal. A disgusting, unethical, soul-crushing deal. He was offering her a way out, but the price was her integrity. Her self-respect. Everything she had worked for.
In that moment, she knew. She would rather see her career go up in flames than accept. She would rather be publicly humiliated, fired, disbarred-anything-than let this man think he could buy her principles.
"Impossible," she said, her voice ringing with a finality that surprised even herself. She met his gaze without flinching. "If you want to discuss the Preston case, have your legal team contact me. Otherwise, this meeting is over. Please leave my office."
It was the first time she had truly fought back, not with professional shields, but with raw defiance.
A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Creed's face. It was quickly replaced by something else, something deeper. A dark spark of interest. He wasn't angry. He was intrigued.
He actually smiled. A real smile this time, though it held no warmth. "Good," he said softly. "I enjoy a challenge."
He turned and walked toward the door, his posture relaxed, as if he had already won. He left a wake of cold air and the lingering scent of sandalwood.
At the doorway, he paused and looked back at her, his eyes locking onto hers.
"I will make you change your mind," he said, not as a threat, but as a simple statement of fact.
Then he pulled the door open, striding past a gaping Maya, and was gone. Bina stood frozen in the center of the room, her body trembling, the silence he left behind more deafening than any noise.
