Karma

Katerina's Pov

A lot of remarkable things happen in the bars beginning at six in the morning. Two hours ago a deal had been sealed. An assignment successfully completed and Jill and her two lovely children were on their way to start a new life, in deed, remarkable things happen in the morning.

Morning drinking calms me, the bar is quieter, and I get the bartender’s full attention.

But not this morning. A few minutes ago, my calming routine is disrupted when the stool beside me is pulled out. I look around, certain there are plenty of empty seats she could’ve chosen without invading my small space

I gaze at my company. She makes a poor attempt to conceal her identity with a multicolored hat and dark sunglasses. Clearly, she didn’t think this through or she’s just another Hollywood victim who believes a hat, shades, and a haircut are enough to blend in. It is eight in the morning, no sun, hands down she has all the attention. The irony.

“I know who you are.” She whispers, and I look around in pretense that I don’t know that she’s talking to me.

I smile mischievously without lifting my head. Staring at the drink on my hand.

“You are Karma.” She whispers again.

A cold chill runs down my spine, but I steady my hands on the glass. I look around afraid someone might have heard her. It is just us.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” I start to look for a wallet or pocket on my dress.

I sigh frustrated that I might have lost it and I have no pockets or money. The bartender will understand. He always does.

When I stand the bartender’s attention is drawn on us. He returns my nod with an understanding I can pay later.

“I can prove it.” She says and places her titanium card beside my half empty glass.

Who is this woman? I get curious but let it die before I indulge into it further.

My heart is racing, I cover my traces well despite my lack of advanced tech know how. I cannot let her see my fear. The world cannot know who I am behind the screen and when the sun sets.

“You need to go home, you have had too many,” I say even though she hasn’t ordered yet, but who knows where she coming from.

“Karma,” She says.

I count to three, calming my heart and turn to her with a smile, “It is a law of nature,” I counter and take a step before she grabs my arm. Her grip tight, it will bruise later.

“Fuck around and find out. Your motto,” She quotes my personal profile.

I look up curious to see if I can’t see her face well.

“You have the wrong person,” Deny, deny until they leave.

I use all my strength to remove her hand on mine.

Slowly, she removes her hat and sunglasses.

My jaw is on the flaw, the alcohol by volume in my body significantly reduces, sobering me up.

Cassandra Thorne?

The wealthy businessman Christian Thorne wife? Women seek me out for one thing and I pray this is different.

“I need you to punish my husband,” There goes another item to my collection of unanswered prayers.

I look around expecting a production team like those cheaters who get caught on hidden cameras. It is unreal. Cassandra and her request.

She is not like my usual clientele, same line but still… That line is said through a computer. My identity hidden and secure.

“I can’t.” I say, bluntly unmasking my identity.

She blinks severally, she wasn’t prepared for my rejection. I am karma, never in my records have I ever turned a woman away.

“Why? Am I not a woman?” She is mumbles.

I size her up and down and give a look she understands, ‘She is certainly a woman, a pretty one for that matter.’

“Those women are not wives to Christian Thorne,” I state.

I have seen the man in action, he is not one to play with. Nevertheless, he is too high for my reach compared to my previous targets.

“Which makes your work easier,” She persists with a look of hope.

“I am sorry, I wish you well and hope you find what you look for.” I commiserate with her.

She stands. She is few inches shorter than me.

She wipes the corner of mouth with her thumb. She silently observes me, it makes me nervous. But she doesn’t know that.

Being near her truly makes me believe that the media do her injustice. She is stunning, a heart shaped face, a small button nose and full lips. She is a heart dropper.

She places three phones on the table, each one face-down like she’s laying out weapons.

“Have you ever been betrayed by a man?”

I swallow hard, avoiding her gaze.

This isn’t about me, I remind myself. Don’t make it about you.

“Christian’s been having affairs,” she says, voice steady but stretched thin. “But when he’s faithful he’s the man I married.”

“So why not leave?” I ask.

She gives a painful, hollow smile. “I’m at the end of the rope,” she whispers. “But I can’t leave him.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I help women the law has failed not the ones trying to stay.”

She pulls out a handkerchief, blotting her tears. “My case is different.”

“Try me.” It’s not compassion. It’s challenge.

“There’s a clause in our prenup. If I leave, I get nothing. Only if I catch him cheating and prove it.” Her eyes remain red

.

That... makes a little sense.

“You found me. That means you’re good. Tracking a man shouldn’t be hard.”

She shakes her head. “He’s careful. Smart. And this...” she takes a shaky breath, “...isn’t just about money. It’s about dignity. I want to break him. I want him to look me in the eye and know what it feels like to be betrayed to need me. Maybe then he’ll remember who I was to him.”

There it is, vengeance dressed in nostalgia.

“So what? You want me to seduce him?” I scoff, but she holds my gaze.

“Yes. Make him fall. And then crush him until I’m the only woman he can stand.”

For a second, I just stare at her.

This has to be a joke. A sick, humiliating joke.

Me, Katerina? Seducing Christian?

A man like that wouldn’t even breathe in my direction.

I laugh, bitter and sharp. “That’s mission impossible.”

Still... the idea sticks like a thorn.

Not because I want him. God, no.

Because deep down, part of me wants to prove I still could.

Few hours ago, I was told no man would ever want me.

Did my father or my ex-husband send her? Some cruel reminder that a woman has a shelf life, and mine is about to expire?

She must sense it; my hesitance, my pride pulling against my fear.

“I’ll guide you,” she says, softer now.

I clench my jaw. He’s twenty-eight. Powerful. Wealthy. Untouchable.

And me? I’m nearly thirty. Divorced. Broke. Unremarkable.

With nothing to my name but a voice people don’t want to hear.

“No.” I stand, firm. “I won’t help you. Find someone else.”

Her face hardens. “You’ve made enemies, Katerina. Men you exposed. Women you humiliated. You’ve stirred a hornet’s nest, and sooner or later, they’ll come for you. I could hand them your name.”

I stiffen.

Blackmail. Clean and cold.

From her Gucci handbag, she slides a business card across the table.

“You’ll report to Thorne PR tomorrow. Eight sharp.”

“I didn’t agree to this.”

She ignores me, already turning away.

“Eight it is.” And just like that, she walks out, heels sharp against the floor, hair swaying through her hat, not once looking back.

I stand there, jaw clenched, with a card burning in my palm and one terrifying question in my head:

How the hell did she find me and how do I fix it?