The Last Mistake

"Bad breakup," she offered, voice sliding between charm and confession. Cue line. Heard it a thousand times. A lure. And he bit anyway.

Then came the proposition: a driver needed, heirlooms bound for Vegas, discreet, five thousand cash. Nothing screamed danger — except everything did. Poise and charm screamed setup. But desperation gnaws at judgment, and five thousand was enough to breathe for a week, maybe make a play at the bigger score.

Her nerves, or her experience — probably both. She'd walked through worse and survived. Or maybe she was just using him. The thought should have stopped him. It didn't. The promise of cash, and the thrill of being chosen, won — and that was the last mistake he'd ever make.