Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
ARIA
It’s late. I’m stretched out across the long conference table, one arm draped over my eyes, trying to remember what sleep feels like. My back’s going to hate me for this later, but right now, I don’t care.
Across the room, Presley’s still sitting upright, scrolling through messages on his phone, frowning like the world just handed him a fresh problem.
“Tell me you’re reading memes,” I mumble.
“Nope.”
“Then lie to me,” I groan. “Just this once.”
He stands, the chair scraping softly against the floor. “Wish I could.”
I peek out from under my arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Two messages,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Both interesting.”
That tone—half grim, half wired—snaps me fully awake. I sit up slowly, the table cold against my palms. “Alright. Hit me.”
He holds up his phone. “First one’s from one of my guys. Used to be a jeweler before he got into security analytics. He took a look at the high-res photos Vincent sent over of the recovered jewels.”
“And?”
“He thinks they’re fakes,” Presley says flatly. “Excellent replicas, but still fake. The gem cuts don’t match the originals. And the metal alloy readings from the laser scan are slightly off. He says there’s no way those are the same pieces we logged during intake.”
I blink, processing. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
I slide off the table, standing now. “So, the janitor ‘returns’ the jewels, Vincent tells everyone the case is closed, and the jewels he brings back aren’t even real.”
“Yup.” Presley taps the phone again. “And that’s not even the weird part.”
“Oh, fantastic. There’s more.”
He gives me that lopsided half-grin I’m starting to recognize as his version of brace yourself. “Second message’s from an old college buddy—he’s with Vegas PD now. He says they got an anonymous tip this afternoon.”
“About?”
“That they’ve got the wrong guy in custody. The tip claims Ronan—the janitor—was framed. And whoever actually took the jewels is still out there.”
The room feels smaller all of a sudden. The hum of the monitors gets louder.
“So someone planted fake jewels,” I say slowly, “and pushed for a confession from the least likely suspect. Why?”
He shakes his head. “Could be to make the casinos look like they handled it fast. Could be to cover for someone bigger.”
I cross my arms, pacing. “Or both.”
Presley leans against the table, watching me think. “We can’t take this upstairs yet. Not without proof.”
“I know,” I say. “If we go to our bosses with a theory about a fake recovery and a frame job, we’ll look insane. Especially if Tran’s the one who said it was ‘handled.’”
“Exactly.”
I stop pacing and meet his eyes. “Then we dig.”
He nods once. “Together.”
For a moment, the exhaustion fades. The frustration. Even the rivalry. What’s left is the thrill—the spark that comes with knowing we’re onto something real.
I grab my tablet off the desk. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”
Presley’s phone buzzes again against the table. He glances at the screen, and I can tell immediately who it is by the way his expression tightens. Vincent.
He swipes to answer. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. “We’ve been reviewing footage to prove it’s Ronan… no, nothing conclusive yet. Uh-huh.”
He listens for a moment, jaw ticking, eyes darting toward me like he’s measuring how much to say.
Then: “Understood. We’ll be there.”
He ends the call and lets out a breath, sliding the phone into his jacket pocket.
“Let me guess,” I say. “Field trip?”
He nods once. “Vincent wants us both at the Jade Petal. Now. Apparently, there’s going to be a briefing—something about consolidating what we’ve found.”
My stomach tightens. “So basically, he wants us to report before we’ve even finished figuring out what’s going on.”
“Pretty much.” He leans against the table beside me, arms folded, that easy grin playing on his mouth even though I can tell he’s as tense as I am.
“You don’t look thrilled,” I say.
“Not exactly my dream invitation,” he admits. “But it’s part of the job.”
For a second, neither of us moves. The only sound is the low hum of the security servers and the faint buzz of the overhead light. Then he takes a step closer—close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him.
“Aria,” he says quietly, almost like he’s not sure he should. “I know we’ve got about ten minutes before we’re back under the microscope, but I don’t want this… us… to just get lost in the shuffle.”
I look up at him. He’s too close. The kind of close that makes it hard to think straight.
“Presley,” I say, warning in my voice, but it comes out softer than I mean it to.
He hesitates for half a heartbeat, then leans in just enough that I can feel his breath against my forehead. His hand brushes lightly along my arm—a quiet, grounding gesture that somehow says stay with me a second longer.
He kisses me. It’s gentle. Brief. But it makes something inside my chest tighten. Then he turns me around and starts rubbing my clit again. I’m still so sensitive from the first time that I almost come undone.
“I’m not done with you yet.” He says.
I turn around to watch him "What are you doing?"
He winks, "Preparing you for something special."
He slides two lubed fingers into my ass, slowly, gently. I gasp, my body tensing briefly before relaxing into his touch.
"Relax, baby," he says, his fingers moving in and out, stretching me.
She nodded, her breath coming in short pants. "It feels...strange. I’ve never been with a man like that.”
“And that’s the way it will stay,” he says curling his fingers slightly. “I’m the only man you’ll ever be with like this.”
"Yes," I hiss.
He smiles, working me until I am begging for more. He pulls his fingers out, replacing them with the tip of a buttplug. I tense again, but he soothes me with soft words and gentle touches.
"Trust me, baby," he whispers. "This is going to feel so good."
He pushes the buttplug in slowly, inch by inch, until it was fully seated. I moan, my body adjusting to the intrusion.
"How does it feel?" He asks, his voice low.
I look up at him, my eyes glazed with desire. "Full," I whisper. "It feels full."
Then he pulls back, eyes steady on mine. “Alright,” he says, with a crooked half-smile. “It’s going to stay in there until it’s my turn, ok?”
“Ok.” I say.
“Now let’s go get yelled at by management.”
I nod, grabbing my tablet and forcing my pulse to slow. “After you.”
As we step into the hallway, the glass doors of the Citadel close behind us.
For a moment, I can still feel the echo of his touch—small, restrained, and impossible to ignore.
Presley and I step through the revolving doors of the Jade Petal lobby, and I immediately notice the metal detector—tall, silver, humming faintly—set up just outside the main conference suite.
Two uniformed guards stand beside it, scanning ID badges and bags like we’re walking into a classified facility instead of a staff briefing.
My stomach drops.
They’ve never done this before.
I stop short. “What is that?”
Presley frowns, following my gaze. “That wasn’t here last week.”
The guard motions us forward. “All personnel entering the conference room are subject to screening.”
Presley nods easily, like it’s no big deal, but my palms go cold. I take a half step back. “We can’t go through that. The metal detector will light up like a Christmas tree. I don’t want to explain to two casino guards and a room full of executives why.”
I shake my head, trying to keep my voice even. “We have to turn around. Now.”
He steps closer, his expression tightening. “No, we don’t. It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” I hiss under my breath. “Presley, you don’t understand—”
He leans in, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Trust me.”
Before I can protest again, his hand is at my back, guiding me gently but firmly toward the archway. “Just breathe,” he murmurs.
Every nerve in my body is screaming. My heart’s pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. We step forward together. The guard waves the handheld scanner, nods once, then gestures for us to proceed. We walk through the detector.
I brace for the alarm—the piercing shriek, the flashing red lights, the embarrassment, the questions—But nothing happens. Silence. The soft hum of the machine. The guards already moving to the next person. I blink, frozen mid-step.
“What—” I start, my voice barely above a whisper. “How did that…?”
Presley’s already ahead of me, holding the door open to the conference suite. He glances back, and there’s something unreadable in his expression.
Just a small nod. Like he expected this. Like he knew. I follow him in, still reeling, my mind racing in circles.
How did the metal detector not go off? How did he know it wouldn’t? I don’t know what’s going on, but one thing’s certain—Presley Dane knows more than he’s letting on.
Presley and I sit at the long table together, the only two people in the room for now. I can hear the distant murmur of voices in the hallway — Vincent and Miranda, probably — before the heavy door clicks shut again.
I turn to Presley. “You want to tell me what that was about?”
He looks at me, feigning innocence. “What what was about?”
“The metal detector,” I say, crossing my arms. “You pushed me through it like we were boarding a plane. And then somehow, it didn’t go off. What’s going on?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Just sits there, tapping his thumb once against the edge of the table. Then he exhales and leans forward, lowering his voice.
“It was a test.”
I blink. “A test?”
He nods. “I suspected that the casino’s new security measures might be fake. Not just lax—fabricated. So I told Vincent to have a detector installed tonight.”
I stare at him, completely thrown. “You what?”
He keeps his voice steady, eyes locked on mine.
“The metal detector wasn’t real, Aria. It was a decoy.
I wanted to see who would insist on having it there.
Because if the casino’s security is being staged, that means someone on the inside wants to give the illusion of control while actually covering something up. ”
I sit back, processing. “You’re saying someone faked security procedures… to make everyone else feel safe?”
“Exactly.” He glances toward the door. “And that someone had access to every clearance level for this floor. Only four people were in the room when tonight’s protocols were approved: Vincent, Miranda, the head of building ops, and the new systems coordinator.”
My pulse quickens. “That’s not just sloppy oversight. That’s deliberate.”
He nods once. “If the metal detector was fake, there’s no operational reason for that—unless whoever set it up didn’t want anyone actually being scanned.”
A chill snakes down my spine. “You think the jewels are here.”
“I think they might be on someone in this room,” he says quietly. “And whoever arranged that detector made damn sure it wouldn’t catch them.”
I glance toward the door again, heart hammering now. Vincent’s voice echoes faintly from the hallway, growing closer. Miranda’s sharper tone follows right behind.
They’re coming.
I look back at Presley. He’s calm — too calm. That steady, unreadable expression he wears when he’s already ten steps ahead of everyone else.
“You realize,” I whisper, “if you’re right about this, we’re sitting in a room with the person who’s been pulling the strings the entire time.”
He nods once, eyes on the door. “Then let’s see who sweats first.”