CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LILA
He really hates me so much that he won’t even give me his number, just an unknown one to boss me around.
Wow. Noted, asshole. Screw him. I’ll get this damn file downloaded and never look back. He and his Russian princess can roll around on their designer sheets for all I care.
I hear giggling from the parlor. Gag me.
I slip off my heels, clutching them as I creep up the grand staircase, each step cautious.
Silent. Hoping I won’t get caught. Hoping she doesn’t have cameras tucked into every corner of this palace.
Hoping I’m not already too late, because if her brother is terrifying, I can’t imagine what she’s like when she’s angry.
And I don’t want to find out what her bodyguards do to people who snoop.
The old wood groans beneath me like it wants to give me away. My breath catches as I freeze in place.
This is a terrible idea.
My heart pounds in my ears. The text replays in my mind.
Don’t mess this up, Lila. How about asking someone else next time, jerk?
But this isn’t about him. This is about the twenty-five missing girls. Focus.
The scent of expensive perfume lingers in the air as I reach the top floor. It floats like a warning that she’s been here. Her bedroom must be near the office.
Oh. That’s how he knew where to send me. How to find her computer. He’s been here before… in her bedroom .
It hits low in my gut. Hard. I reach the final step.
My legs tremble with the fear of getting caught.
I pause at the landing. Listening. Waiting.
The only sound is her annoyingly perfect laugh echoing from the first floor, rising like smoke up the grand staircase.
It wraps around me, a reminder that she’s still downstairs… with him.
I glance down the hall to make sure I’m alone.
And of course, my imagination betrays me.
I picture their bodies tangled together.
Hands fumbling. Clawing. Desperate. Her back pressed against the wall outside her bedroom.
His mouth crashing into hers. That little breathy sound she probably makes when he kisses down her neck.
I can see her gown sliding off her shoulders, pooling around her feet.
His hands gripping her thighs. Her fingers in his hair, pulling, guiding.
Their moans echoing off the marble. He lifts her up and presses her into the doorframe.
They don’t even bother to close the door.
Why would they? This is her house. Her world.
Her body he’s touching. Her name is the one rolling off his tongue.
Russian. The language they share. It makes everything feel private.
Intimate. Like, there’s a whole world between them that I’ll never be part of.
This isn’t healthy. I should call Leon. He’s hot. Nice. Wants me. He invited me back to the pleasure room, for God’s sake. That’s... something.
Something safe. Something real. Better than this twisted mess with a man who looks right through me. Who acts like I’m invisible.
I shake the thought out of my mind and finally spot the third door. The office. I reach for the knob, turning it slowly, careful not to make a sound. I slip inside and shut the door behind me, pressing my back to the wood.
My heart is sprinting, but it’s not panic. It’s wild and electric adrenaline pulsing through my body, hoping to make it through this day alive and not be killed. I let out a breath I’ve been holding since Kage told me to do this.
The room is dim and elegant. Built-in bookshelves stretch to the ceiling. In the center, a gold antique desk topped with white marble. Three massive monitors glow faintly in the dark.
This is it. The reason I’m in this mess.
I cross the floor on my tiptoes, trying to be light as a feather so the hardwood doesn’t creak under my weight. I tap the power button. The computer blinks awake. I stare at the middle monitor, silently begging it to hurry. Please don’t take long.
Then it pops up.
Password protected.
Of course.
I grit my teeth and start typing. Fast. I open a menu and run a basic bypass command. Lines of code flash across the screen. Wrong password. I try again, this time using a shortcut I learned in college. The screen glitches for a second. Then… click.
It unlocks.
The desktop loads with a dozen folders staring back at me. I’m in.
RATTLE. The doorknob jiggles behind me.
I freeze. Another rattle. Then silence.
My body shakes.
She knows. Should I get on my knees and beg for forgiveness? Shit, what am I going to do ?
I look around to find somewhere to hide, but nothing. My spine snaps straight.
“Why is this door locked?” The voice was raspy, older, female, like she’s smoked a pack a day since birth.
I jam the thumb drive into the port. Another voice joins. Younger. Maybe Hispanic. “I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t want us to clean it?”
Housekeepers. This is my luck.
The file starts downloading. 15%.
A clock ticks somewhere behind me. Each second bangs against my skull like a drum.
16%. 20%.
Come on, come on.
“No, we are not skipping this room again. Last time I did, she threatened to send me to Russia. I’ll grab the master key,” the older voice snaps.
My throat closes. The clock ticks louder. Too loud. Like it’s echoing inside my eardrum.
29% 40% 51%
Breathe. Just breathe.
Sweat beads at my temples and slides down my back, soaking into the waistband of my skirt. My palms are slick, fingers slipping on the keyboard as I try to type faster. The computer blinks. Slow. Too slow. Like it’s mocking me.
68% 76%
The keys rattle outside the door. The clock ticks faster. Or maybe it’s just my pulse. I wipe my hands on my skirt, desperate to dry them, but it barely helps.
89% 93 %
The metallic scrape of the key sliding into the lock rattles through the door.
No. No. No. 98%
I fling open the French doors, barely believing what I’m about to do. The sheer curtains whip around me, cold air slapping my cheeks and tangling in my hair. Inside, the doorknob turns.
100%
I rip the flash drive free, fling my black heels aside, and hurl myself over the balcony, grabbing onto the thick, vine-wrapped lattice clinging to the stone wall. The clock inside strikes. One brutal, hollow clang letting me know I’m out of time.
A sharp sting slices across my neck. “Ouch!” I slap a hand over the spot, feeling the hot trickle of blood. A rose thorn caught me. A clean slice across the skin, and the blood beads fast.
Triple pay, huh? I’m going to need more than that.
But then it hits me. I said it out loud. Oh God. Please tell me they didn’t hear me.
I scramble the rest of the way down, my feet slamming onto the ground. And freeze because I see them.
Kage. Her.
She’s straddling his lap, her emerald dress bunched high around her hips. His hands grip her waist. He’s not pushing her away. He’s leaning in. And seeing it hurts worse than a thousand rose thorns tearing through my skin .
Of course, he would want her. Who wouldn’t? I’m an idiot to think I was even half as attractive as her.
And thinking about him with another woman was torture enough. But seeing it? That’s a fucking tragedy.
Turns out, jumping off a balcony wasn’t the thing that hurt the most.