Zeke’s POV
“Who were you working for that night?”
The question hung between us, thick and suffocating like the air before a storm.
Lena stood rigid, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. Her breath hitched—just a fraction of a second too late.
A tell. I let my gaze drift over her, waiting. Watching. Her jaw clenched. “I wasn’t working for anyone.”
Bullshit.
I exhaled slowly, tilting my head. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
She rolled her shoulders like she was shaking something off. “I don’t know what you think happened that night, but I was just there at the wrong time.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? You expect me to believe that?”
Her expression was unreadable, but I could feel the tension radiating from her like heat.
She was scared. Not of me. Of what I knew.
I took a step closer, closing the space between us. She stood her ground, but I didn’t miss the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard.
“You knew who I was,” I murmured. “You knew my family. You knew exactly what was happening that night.”
Lena’s eyes flickered, something dark passing through them. “I didn’t know anything.”
I let the silence stretch. Let the weight of my gaze press into her.
Then I leaned in, just enough for my voice to drop lower. “Don’t play with me, Lena.”
Her hands were trembling now, just slightly. She tried to mask it, but I saw through it. She was cracking, little by little.
“I told you the truth,” she whispered.
“No, you told me what you want me to believe,” I countered. “And I don’t buy it.”
She exhaled sharply, like she was trying to keep herself from saying something she’d regret.
I let my fingers tap against the table, slow and deliberate. “See, here’s the thing. I’ve spent five years looking for you. And the second I find you, you’re telling me you had nothing to do with what happened?”
She crossed her arms, lifting her chin. “I saved your life. Isn’t that enough?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Not when you’re lying to me.”
The tension between us was a live wire, sparking with something neither of us wanted to name.
She was cornered, and we both knew it. She could keep lying. Or she could tell me the truth. Either way—I wasn’t leaving without answers.
I smirked, watching her struggle to keep her composure. “Lena, you’re a terrible liar.”