Chapter 10 – Magnolia
CHAPTER
TEN
MAGNOLIA
By the time I’ve showered and dressed, I’ve come to two very important conclusions. One: I desperately need more coffee. And two: Whatever Lenoire is currently doing is significantly worse than what we did last night.
A fact that becomes crystal clear the second I step out of her bedroom and into the main living space.
The energy has shifted completely, and not in a subtle way either.
Whatever quiet existed over breakfast has been replaced with something cutting and uncomfortable.
It prickles across my skin as I move toward her, slow at first, then with more urgency the closer I get.
Lenoire is planted firmly at her desk, exactly where I left her when I went to go shower, except now she looks less like a person and more like a force of nature contained behind glass and steel.
I pause just shy of the edge, taking in the glow of her screens, the quiet precision of her movements, and the steady rhythm of her typing.
Everything in front of her is alive with motion.
Numbers shifting, windows refreshing, data reorganizing itself in real time.
“You didn’t even consider taking a break, did you?” I ask, leaning lightly against the edge of the desk, more to ground myself than anything else.
“I don’t need one,” she deadpans, her attention still fixed exactly where it’s been since I walked in.
“Of course you don’t.” I roll my eyes because at this point that tracks with everything I’ve seen from her.
For a moment, I just watch. I don’t understand the technical side of what’s happening, but I understand enough to know this isn’t passive. This isn’t her checking something or monitoring it. It’s active, ongoing, and she’s directing it.
“So is this the part where I pretend I know what’s going on,” I ask after a beat, folding my arms loosely as my gaze flicks between the screens and her profile, “or are you going to walk me through it so I can at least pretend more convincingly?”
“You wouldn’t follow it.” It’s not dismissive so much as matter-of-fact, like she’s already assessed the outcome and moved on from it.
I huff out a quiet laugh, shifting a little closer despite myself. “Try me.”
Her fingers slow—not stopping entirely, just enough to acknowledge the request—before continuing, her voice measured when she finally speaks. “Preston is still blissfully unaware, which means we’re still in the clear and everything I need is exactly where it was left.”
“So what is this, then?” I ask, gesturing vaguely at the controlled chaos in front of her. “If he hasn’t noticed anything yet?”
“This is where it becomes irreversible.”
That… That does something to my pulse that has absolutely nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the quiet and rather deadly certainty in her voice. “Irreversible how?”
She doesn’t answer immediately, and for a second I think she won’t, but then she follows that up with, “Last night was simply access. This is execution.”
I let out a small breath, trying to piece that together in a way that makes sense. “Okay, but what does that actually mean? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re,” I gesture vaguely at the screens, “doing computer things.”
That earns me the faintest shift at the corner of her mouth. It’s not quite a smile but close enough. “I’m reallocating assets,” she says.
I stare at her, blinking a couple of times. “That sounds fake.”
“It isn’t.”
“Lenoire,” I deadpan. “That sounds like something a billionaire says in a movie right before the IRS shows up.”
“It’s still accurate.”
“Is it, though?” I press her, stepping closer until I’m just at her side now, close enough to actually see what’s happening on the screen instead of just the movement of it. “Because it looks a lot like you’re quietly emptying accounts he doesn’t even know he’s about to lose.”
Her gaze flicks up to me then, brief but direct. “That would be an oversimplification.”
I hum. “But not an incorrect one.”
She doesn’t argue that, which, frankly, tells me everything I need to know.
I drag a hand through my still-damp hair, pacing once across the space before drifting back again, the energy under my skin starting to build in a way that feels suspiciously familiar. “Last night felt like the risky part,” I admit. “You know, breaking in, not getting caught, all of that.”
“That was controlled,” she answers.
“And this isn’t?”
“No.” Her voice comes quieter now and yet somehow more pointed. “This is what matters.”
The way she says it isn’t dramatic. There’s no emphasis, no weight added to force the point. She doesn’t need to because it’s clear she means it.
My gaze shifts back to the screen just as another sequence updates—numbers disappearing, reappearing somewhere else, systems reorganizing themselves like nothing is actually being lost even though…
Even though it absolutely is.
“You’re not just taking what you can and leaving,” I say slowly, the realization settling in piece by piece.
“No.”
“You’re making sure there’s nothing left to come back to.”
She doesn’t respond right away, her attention returning fully to the screen, fingers moving with that same quiet precision as before. When she does speak, it’s almost absent, like the answer is too obvious to require emphasis.“I don’t do anything halfway.”
I watch her for a moment. This isn’t opportunistic or impulsive. This is one-hundred percent calculated. “You don’t just steal. You ruin people.”
Lenoire hums and bobs her head ever so slightly. “I target people who rely on the assumption that they’re untouchable.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is to me.”
I let out a quiet breath, leaning back against the desk as I try to reconcile that with everything else I know about her—or think I do—which, admittedly, isn’t much.
“You don’t see a line there?” I ask.
“There’s always a line.”
“And this isn’t crossing it?”
“Not at all.”
I glance at her for a split-second, then back at the screen as everything just stops. “That’s it?”
“For now, yes.”
I let out small laugh at that because of course it’s not over. Nothing about her suggests anything is ever just…over.
She leans back slightly in her chair then, not relaxing exactly, but easing just enough that the shift is noticeable after how still and stoic she’s been.
Then she looks at me. “You wanted to understand, right?”
My pulse does something deeply unhelpful in response. “I did.”
There’s a beat, the kind that stretches just long enough to feel intentional, until she scoots her seat back and pats her lap, leaving me absolutely speechless when she follows that up with a, “Sit.”
It’s not exactly an order, but it’s not a suggestion either.
My breath catches slightly as I glance at the space she pointed to, then back at her, something warm and reckless curling low in my stomach before I can stop it.
“Oh,” I murmur, stepping closer, the corner of my mouth lifting despite myself. “So now I get the hands-on version?”
Her gaze doesn’t waver. “If you’re going to stay,” she says evenly, “you might as well learn something.”
Yeahhh, that doesn’t help. At all.