He hadn't made a sound. Not a footstep. Not a rustle of fabric. He was just… there.
He was taller than he looked in the pictures. Over six feet, with broad shoulders that strained the fabric of a navy bespoke suit. He wasn't wearing a tie, and the top button of his crisp white shirt was undone, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin.
But it was his face that arrested her. He was devastatingly handsome, with high, aristocratic cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. He had an air of calm authority, a stillness that felt predatory.
And his eyes.
One was a piercing, icy blue. The other was a swirling storm of steel grey with a rare, lighter silver ring near the pupil. Heterochromia. They were hypnotic, intense, and currently locked onto hers with a focus that made her feel like she was the only thing in the room.
He didn't blink.
"Mr. Knight," Lauren managed to say, her voice breathless. She quickly composed herself, standing straighter and slipping her phone into her pocket. "I didn't hear you come in."
"I know," he said. He didn't smile, but there was a flicker of amusement in those mismatched eyes. "I tend to move quietly. It's a habit."
He walked past her, moving with a prowling grace that made the large room feel suddenly very small. As he passed, the scent of him hit her—rain, expensive scotch, and musk. It was intoxicating.
Lauren felt a strange duality of emotion crash over her. He was terrifying. The way he looked at her was analytical, dissecting her layers in seconds. And yet… she felt safe. Like standing next to a tiger that had decided, for the moment, not to maul her.
"Please," he gestured to the chair at the head of the table. "Sit."
Lauren hesitated, then moved to the chair. "Mr. Knight, I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice. But I have to say, usually I prefer to meet in my office. To discuss the case."
Grey didn't sit. He leaned against the edge of the heavy table, crossing his arms over his chest. A heavy silver watch glinted on his wrist.
"I don't like offices," he said simply. "And I don't like wasting time. You're the lawyer who lost the Sterling case."
Lauren stiffened. The mention of her failure stung like a slap. "I am. But that has no bearing on—"
"You're hungry," he interrupted, his voice calm. "Not for food. For a win. You're desperate. That makes you useful."
Lauren narrowed her eyes. The intimidation factor was high, but her pride was higher. She wasn't going to let him bully her.
"I'm not just useful, Mr. Knight," she said, her voice firm. "I'm good. And considering you're facing a First Degree Murder charge with a mountain of circumstantial evidence against you, you need 'good' right now more than you need to psychoanalyze me."
Grey tilted his head, studying her. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth, then down the curve of her neck, lingering on her pulse point which was beating frantically. It wasn't a leering look. It was an assessment. He was measuring her.
"The prosecution claims I was at the Obsidian Hotel between eight and ten PM," Grey stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "They have a witness who says they saw my car. They have motive."
"And what is the motive?" Lauren asked, pulling a notepad from her bag, trying to regain professional ground.
"Jealousy," Grey said dryly. "They believe Elara Vance was trying to leave me. That I snapped. That I strangled her in a fit of rage."
Lauren looked at him. He looked like a man who had never snapped in his life. He looked like a man who controlled everything, including his own heartbeat.
"Do you have an alibi?" Lauren asked. "Someone who can place you elsewhere? A business partner? A friend?"
"I do."
"Great. Who is it? We can subpoena them."
"A camera," Grey said.
Lauren paused, pen hovering over the paper. "Surveillance footage?"
"Private footage." Grey pushed off the table and took a step toward her. The space between them charging with sudden, sharp tension. "I was here. In my bedroom. With a woman."
"Okay," Lauren said, though her mind was racing. "We need her name. If she was here with you, she's your key witness."
"No names," Grey said softly. "She won't testify. But she doesn't have to."
"Then her testimony is useless without—"
"I have a tape," Grey cut in. "A video. It shows the date. The time. It shows me. It shows the act."
Lauren felt a flush rise up her neck. "A sex tape. You want to submit a sex tape as your primary alibi?"
"It proves I wasn't killing anyone at the time of death," he said calmly.
"Wait," Lauren frowned, recalling the case file details she had scanned. "If the tape is with a secret woman, that clears you. But the police found Elara's body at the hotel. If you were here…"
"I wasn't with a secret woman, Ms. Hayes," Grey said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "The woman in the tape is Elara."
Lauren dropped her pen. It clattered loudly on the wooden table.
"Elara?" she repeated, shocked. "The victim? You have a sex tape with the victim… on the night she died?"
"Yes."
"But… if she's in the video with you, and then she was found dead…" Lauren's mind worked furiously. "The prosecution will argue that the tape just proves you were with her. It doesn't prove you didn't kill her afterward. Unless the tape shows her leaving? Alive?"
"The tape shows the nature of our relationship. They pinned me as the main suspect because there is a message from Elara that said I "choked" her," Grey said. He took another step closer. He was right in front of her now, looming. "They say I killed her in a rage. They say the bruising on her neck is evidence of a struggle. Evidence of hate. Evidence that I choked her again, succeeding this time."
He reached out, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from Lauren's shoulder. His touch was electric, scorching even through the fabric of her blazer. Lauren stopped breathing.
"The tape proves it wasn't hate," Grey said. "It proves it wasn't a death choke but a submissive choke. It proves it was consensual. It proves she liked it rough. It proves that the marks on her neck were put there with love, not malice. It destroys the prosecution's narrative of a crime of passion."
"It's risky," Lauren breathed, her heart pounding. "Showing a jury a BDSM tape involving the murder victim? They might acquit you of murder, but they'll crucify your character. They'll see a monster."
"That is why I need you," Grey said. His eyes bored into hers, stripping away her defenses, seeing the desperation and the curiosity hidden beneath her lawyer persona. "I need you to contextualize it. I need you to explain to them that control isn't abuse. That pain can be pleasure."
"I can't do that if I don't understand it," Lauren whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Grey smiled then. It wasn't a nice smile. It was a dark, knowing curve of his lips that sent a shiver straight to her core.
"Exactly," he murmured. "To defend me, Lauren, you have to understand the man. You have to understand the act."
He leaned down, his face inches from hers. She could feel his breath on her cheek. The air between them was thick with a forbidden, terrifying heat.
"Tell me," Grey whispered, his voice dark and commanding. "What size lingerie do you wear?"