บททั้งหมดของ The Seduction Clause: บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

A year earlier. The Hamptons.The Langstons’ vineyard was the kind of place where secrets aged better than wine. Rows of manicured vines stretched toward the horizon, and the tasting room was all reclaimed wood and curated charm. Celeste arrived in a vintage convertible she’d rented for effect, her hair loose and wind-tossed, her dress a whisper of silk that clung in all the right places. She looked like money, but not the kind that needed to prove it.Her name, for this job, was Isobel Hart—a boutique art dealer from Tribeca with a taste for rare Bordeaux and unavailable men. She’d spent weeks crafting the identity: a fake gallery website, a burner phone with curated texts, even a LinkedIn profile with just enough ambiguity to be intriguing.Gregory Langston noticed her on the second day of the harvest festival. He was holding court near the reserve tasting table, surrounded by men who laughed too loudly and women who laughed too easily. Celeste didn’t approach. She let him watch her

The click of the lock echoes in the quiet apartment, and Celeste is already shedding her silk blouse, half-turned from the door. "No small talk, huh?" Nate's low voice rumbles with amusement, a slight grin playing on his lips as he bends to untie the laces of his work boots. He comes straight from a job site; the faint, earthy scent of sawdust clings to his worn jeans and the simple white t-shirt stretched taut across his broad chest. He looks rugged and casual, utterly delectable, a raw masculinity that is both unsettling and incredibly appealing. His late thirties sit well on him, his body a testament to meticulous care, much like the cases she once handled with such precision.He still thinks she is practicing law, arguing high-stakes divorces, a demanding career that perfectly justifies her insistence on nothing more than casual encounters. It isn't entirely a lie, of course. She is still an attorney, barred and meticulously maintaining that status, but the days of battling in cou

Celeste woke to the gentle hum of sunlight seeping through her bedroom blinds, warm streaks brushing her bare shoulder. No lingering scent of someone else on the sheets. Just clean linen and the faint trace of lavender from her pillow spray. Just her. Just right.She stretched, toes flexing against the cool edge of the bed before slipping into the rhythm that grounded her.Downstairs, she tapped her playlist on and let the pulsing beat carry her through her workout. Pushups, crunches, a few rounds with her resistance bands—enough to make her muscles hum and remind her who she was when no one was looking.A shower rinsed away the sweat and the night before. She wrapped herself in a towel, steam fogging the mirror as she stared at her reflection and smirked. No regrets. No strings. Just clarity.Coffee brewed while she scrolled through her calendar—two virtual consults, one in-office meeting later this week. She poured the dark roast into her favorite oversized mug and curled up on the

Three weeks later.Celeste had almost finished packing when the notification came through—encrypted, timestamped, marked PRIORITY.She glanced at it with mild curiosity, expecting another dry log from Dom: Julian at his office, Julian at his favorite café, Julian back home for dinner with Vivienne. That had been the rhythm for weeks. Predictable. Flat.But this one was different.Dom’s message read:“Need your eyes on this. Cross met someone tonight—man in his late fifties, not part of his usual orbit. Quiet interaction in a park near his building. No tech, no paper trail. Julian dropped something. Other man pocketed it. No handshake. No words. Just silence. No one’s supposed to know he was even outside tonight. I double-checked the calendar. Nothing scheduled.”Celeste’s brows furrowed, the edge of her focus snapping into clarity.She pulled the attached photos up on her laptop. Grainy, low light, but Dom’s lens was good. Julian stood slightly hunched, talking—or not talking—to a st

By the time the last pink balloon had drifted lazily into the trees and the gift table had been picked clean, Celeste had checked every polite box: she’d hugged her sister, praised the diaper cake, smiled through questions about her career, and sidestepped every attempt to talk about her future family plans with practiced grace. Now, she was gone. Settled into the plush curve of a first-class seat, she looked out the window as Georgia receded beneath her—wide fields and sleepy highways unraveling like ribbon. A place she knew too well. A life she’d left behind with intention. The plane climbed into the clouds and the landscape disappeared into mist. She leaned back, stretching her legs, and gratefully accepted the glass of wine offered by the flight attendant. “Thank you,” she murmured with a tired smile, fingers curling around the stem. She loved her mom. She loved Cierra. But home—this version of it—had always felt like soft velvet over a bruise. She visited out of love, not lo