Chapter 16
Emily Windsor's POV
After our return from the docks, the atmosphere between Luke and me shifted into something delicate and fraught.
His words replayed in my mind on an endless loop, dismantling every ounce of composure and self-control I'd managed to maintain.
I found myself unconsciously avoiding being alone with him.
I switched the smart glass separating our offices to opaque mode, buried myself completely in work, and rejected any approach from him that wasn't strictly professional.
Luke seemed to notice my withdrawal, but he never called me out on it—he simply cast deep, searching glances through the occasionally transparent glass wall, studying me like I was a hedgehog that had suddenly bristled with defensive quills.
This deliberate avoidance gave me a temporary sense of safety, yet it also cultivated a loneliness at the bottom of my heart that I refused to acknowledge.
That afternoon, I was holed up in my office organizing files for the Victor family's offshore trust funds—an incredibly tedious task. Most of these trusts were established in lax regulatory tax havens, their accounts labyrinthine and interconnected. I had to meticulously separate them, reorganize, and incorporate them into an entirely new legitimate business framework.
While reviewing transaction records for a charitable foundation registered under Luke's personal name, I discovered something unusual.
Every month, the accounts showed over a dozen transfers—small amounts, but identical figures—deposited regularly into different individual accounts. These payment records had continued for years without interruption.
As a charitable foundation, direct assistance to specific individuals wasn't strange. What was strange was that instead of descriptive notes, the memo fields contained nothing but cryptic numerical codes.
My lawyer's instinct told me there was something beneath the surface.
Curiosity, once rooted, grew like wild vines.
Using the access Luke had granted me, I quietly pulled up records from the internal archive database.
I entered those numerical codes one by one into the query system, which cross-referenced them to a collection of sealed old case files.
When the case titles appeared on my screen, my breath caught in my throat.
"Brooklyn Restaurant Shooting," "Queens Dock Gang Warfare Incident," "East Side Smuggling Case Witness Family Massacre"...
Every single one was a notorious gang violence incident that had plagued New York over the past decade. And the identities of the payment recipients soon followed—without exception, they were all family members of innocent victims from these violent tragedies.
The Victor family had created these tragedies, yet year after year, they were secretly "supporting" these shattered families with money.
What the hell was this? A butcher's mercy? A killer's conscience payment?
I'd always believed the mafia's world was pure darkness—violence, bloodshed, utterly inhuman.
But Luke's actions were like a contradiction tearing open a jagged crack in that absolute darkness.
He could dispose of a traitor's corpse without batting an eye, yet he could also silently cover the next twenty years of college tuition for a child who'd lost their father in a gang shootout.
Was he a demon, or something else wearing a demon's skin?
I closed the file, but my heart hammered violently.
I realized my understanding of Luke was spiraling out of control. He was no longer simply a mafia heir—he was a man filled with lethal contradictions.
That evening, I deliberately stayed late to work overtime, avoiding leaving the office at the same time as Luke.
I didn't pack up until the entire building had gone quiet.
As I stepped out of my office, I noticed Luke's light was still on.
He reclined against the sofa, the main lights off, leaving only a dim floor lamp casting amber light. His eyes were closed, his brow slightly furrowed, that devastatingly handsome face marked with a rare weariness. His long legs crossed casually, yet even at rest, the powerful aura surrounding him never diminished.
Perhaps my footsteps disturbed him. He slowly opened his eyes. Those ice-blue irises, softened by dim lighting, had lost their daytime sharpness and gained a languid depth—like the ocean at midnight.
"Why are you still here?" His voice was slightly hoarse.
"Finishing up a file." I clutched my bag, standing in the doorway with no intention of entering.
He looked at me, silent for a moment, then suddenly spoke. "Tomorrow, come somewhere with me."
That same unquestionable tone again.
"If it's work-related, have your assistant send me the itinerary." My response was formulaic.
"It's not work." Luke straightened, the amber lamplight casting deep shadows across his face. "We're going to see someone."
He rose and walked toward me step by step, his towering frame carrying an invisible pressure that enveloped me. I instinctively tried to retreat, but my spine hit the cold doorframe—nowhere left to go.
"Emily," he stopped before me, looking down, emotions churning in those deep eyes, "don't you want to know where that money actually goes?"
My heart seized violently, blood seemingly freezing in an instant.
He knew! He knew I'd investigated his foundation!
A wave of humiliation and panic at being exposed swept through me.
Before him, I was always transparent—every pretense, every attempt at probing, laid bare.
"You're monitoring me?" I bit out, my voice trembling despite myself.
"The access I gave you allows you to see anything I want you to see." His answer sidestepped my question as his long fingers gently grasped my chin, forcing me to raise my head and meet his gaze. "Including those secrets you thought you'd discovered on your own."
My mind went blank with a resounding buzz.
So this was all deliberate.
He'd deliberately let me find those payment records, deliberately let me see those old case files, deliberately let me witness his contradictory, torn behavior.
Like the most skilled hunter, he'd used the most tempting bait to lead me step by step into his carefully constructed trap.
"Why?" I managed to ask, my voice dry.
"Because I wanted you to see what I really am." He leaned down, his warm breath brushing my cheek, his voice low and husky with fatal allure. "Then you can judge for yourself—whether I'm a demon, or... whether we're more alike than you think."
His words dropped like a stone into a deep pool, creating endless ripples across my heart.
Alike?
How could he and I possibly be alike?
I was a lawyer who stood in the light, believing in law and order, while he was a tyrant walking in shadows, hands stained with blood, treating human lives like weeds.
For that instant, I was speechless.
"I'm nothing like you!" I finally found my voice, shoving him away forcefully, though my heartbeat remained utterly chaotic.
Luke didn't press closer. He simply stood there watching me, lips curving into an inscrutable smile.