Page 53 of Lethal in Pink

“Hey,” I say, gathering my leather tote from the back of the chair in one smooth, practiced motion. “I’m cutting out. If I don't get two hours of quiet reading in tonight, Monday is going to be a bloodbath.”

The protest is instant, lazy, and entirely expected.

“Already?”

“Stay for the pitcher.”

I flash the warm smile. The apologetic one that signals high standards rather than rejection.

“Duty calls. Next time.” I say.

I leave two crisp tens on the table—enough to cover my untouched soda and a tip big enough to ensure no one remembers my face—and slide through the crowded floor toward the exit. The air inside the doorway feels thick, choked with cheap perfume and warm beer.

When I push through the glass doors, the Los Angeles night air hits me—cool, dry, smelling faintly of exhaust and eucalyptus. I grip my car keys until the brass edges bite into the meat of my palm, driving out the lingering buzz of the bass.

Eighty-grit. Enough to leave a texture you'd feel for a week.

I turn the ignition, let the radio drown out the quiet, and head toward Thornfield Hall, keeping both hands locked at ten and two.

My apartment door locks behind me with a sound that feels like punctuation. The bar clothes come off in the order they were designed to be removed: top first, then the shoes, then the skirt that was chosen for its ability to make my ass look like it was sculpted by God herself. They hit the laundry basket with a soft thud.

The good jeans go on next. Wide-legged, high-waisted, the denim a deep indigo that has softened at the knees and inner thighs from too many washes into something closer to a second skin. They hug my hips the way water curls around stone—smooth, effortless, and perfectly following every curve. The cream ribbed top follows—the one with the wide scoop neck and the hem that hits exactly one inch below the waistband. I tuck the front in, smooth it flat with two fingers, and leave the back to fall where it wants.

The pink bow is next. My hair is still in the soft waves from this morning, and I gather a section at the crown, twist it twice with my fingers, and secure it with the small elastic band. I put the silk bow over the knot and adjust it so it sits perfectly straight and centered.

My collection of perfume lives in the top drawer of my dresser. I pick the heavy glass bottle to the right—the one that has hints of plum, vanilla, and jasmine.

I check the mirror one final time, my frosty, pale, blue eyes studying my reflection. The girl staring back at me looks soft. Approachable. Like someone who spends her evenings baking cookies and watching rom-coms, not someone who murders people for a living.

I spray the perfume twice—once at the base of my throat, once on my wrists, and rub them together.

“Not for him,” I tell the glass.

The reflection doesn't look convinced.

Oh, well.

I tried.

A few moments later, I’m grabbing my handbag, and I’m out the door, piling into my Tesla for the twenty-minute drive.

My watch ticks to 10:00 PM as I round the corner. Precisely on time.

Jae is already installed in the alcove. His long legs are stretched under the narrow table, one ankle hooked over the other. His cold iced Americano sits sweating beside his laptop, resting against a massive VetMed textbook on veterinary pharmacology. Jae is taking a couple of upper-level legal electives this semester so he doesn't get utterly taken advantage of when he eventually opens his own practice. His manga—Shonen Jump—is open on top of his casebook.

I pull out my chair and sit down.

Jae looks up from his page, his eyes tracking up to where the pink silk sits tucked into my hair. A slow, lazy smirk touches the corner of his mouth.

“Cute bow,” he says softly.

“It’s functional,” I reply, unzipping my binder with a clean, crisp slide. “It keeps my hair back while I salvage our grade.”

“Right. Because I’m just taking electives for the scenery.” He leans back, tapping his pen against his knee. “Did you read the supplemental on professional ethics codes, or are you going to keep pretending duty-of-care is identical in every field?”

“The legal framework is identical when you're structuring an ethical defense,” I say, tabbing to the highlighted section in our project outline. “If you want our Ethics presentation to survive Chen’s grilling, you need to understand that systemic duty is defined by procedural mandate, not warm feelings.”

“And if you ignore the practical reality of professional obligations, your framework is useless,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the wood. “A prosecutor’s ethical breach is buried in administrative discretion. In my world, an ethical breach on informed consent means an animal dies on the table. The failure modes aren't the same.”