Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
PRESLEY
I’m standing in the lobby of the Citadel, holding two cups of coffee. I take the elevator up to the security floor, breathing in the scent of her espresso bar blend—some fancy roast with a name I had to say twice at the café downstairs. The girl behind the counter smirked when I ordered it.
“Hot date?” she asked.
“Something like that,” I said.
Truth? I have no idea how this is going to go.
Last night was… intense. A spark. A surprise. The best fucking surprise, but now I don’t know what to say. I’m walking in with coffee like some peace offering in a paper cup.
I find her already glued to the monitors, her posture straight, her focus razor-sharp. She doesn’t see me at first. I clear my throat gently and hold out the cup. “Morning.”
She turns, startled—and just for a second, her expression softens. “You know my order?”
“Hazelnut oat milk latte, half sweet, extra shot.” I shrug. “Even smug bastards can have good memories.”
She takes it slowly, eyeing me like I might’ve poisoned it. “Thanks,” she mutters, then adds, “But don’t think this makes up for anything.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She takes a sip, and I swear I catch the smallest sigh of satisfaction. It’s like watching ice melt.
“About last night…” I start, leaning against the desk beside her. “I meant what I said. It was amazing.”
She doesn’t look at me. Just keeps sipping her coffee, eyes on the screen. “It was a mistake.”
“But an amazing mistake,” I add, nudging her shoulder with mine. “If we’re scoring things accurately.”
She finally turns, eyes cool but not unkind. “Presley, come on. It happened. It’s over. We were tired. The adrenaline was high. It was just… something we had to get out of our system.”
I nod, trying to play it off like that doesn’t sting just a little. “Right. One-time thing. I hear you.”
“Good.”
“But,” I say, watching her closely, “you and I both know that if something needs to be gotten out of our systems, it probably means it’s still in there to begin with.”
Her jaw tenses. For a moment, it looks like she might argue—but she just exhales and turns back to the monitor.
I let the silence settle between us, not pushing. Just being there. Letting the scent of coffee and the glow of security footage fill the space.
Truth is, I didn’t bring her that drink to score points. I brought it because I wanted a reason to see her relax. To see her look at me like I wasn’t just some smug rival from across the Strip. Even if she won’t admit it—there’s something here.
“There,” I say, pointing to the grainy footage on the center monitor. “Pause. Zoom in.”
Aria’s already ahead of me, fingers flying across the keyboard. The image tightens—security cam footage from the Citadel’s private elevator bay, timestamped two nights ago.
And there she is.
Talia Brandt.
Wife of none other than Dalton Brandt, the silver-haired overlord of the Citadel. She’s stepping into the elevator wearing a slinky black dress, sunglasses the size of dinner plates, and on her neck—clear as day—is the sapphire necklace. One of the Weeping Jewels.
“No way,” I breathe, leaning closer. “She’s wearing the damn necklace.”
Aria stares at the screen like she’s trying to melt it with her mind. “She wasn’t even on the guest list for the exhibit preview that night. That wing was restricted.”
“Which means either she bypassed security,” I say, “or someone let her in.”
Aria lets out a breath through her nose. “Of all the people…”
We both just stare at the screen for a moment before I say it—
“Well, maybe the curse doesn’t apply to her.”
Aria looks at me sideways. “Why’s that?”
“Because being married to Dalton Brandt has got to be worse than any ancient jewel curse.”
She snorts. “Fair point. That woman’s probably been cursed since the prenup.”
We both laugh, and for a second, the tension between us slips away again—just two people standing over a screen, caught off guard by a ridiculous, totally unexpected twist.
Then the reality sets in.
“We need to talk to her,” Aria says, her voice turning serious. “Figure out how she got access, if she’s still in possession of the piece, and if she knows anything about the rest.”
I nod slowly, watching the footage rewind and play again. “Yeah. We need to interview her.”
Silence. Neither of us moves. Neither of us wants to go anywhere near Talia Brandt.
She’s beautiful, terrifying, unpredictable, and somehow manages to make everyone in a ten-foot radius feel like they’re on trial for tax evasion.
She’s also notorious for pretending not to know people she’s met twelve times—and for having zero filter when it comes to insults wrapped in compliments.
And her husband could have us fired in seconds.
“You first,” I say.
Aria shoots me a look. “Oh no. This was your discovery.”
“Exactly. I’ve done my part. Discovery ends at documentation. Interviewing her falls to… intelligence operations.” I nod toward her. “You.”
She narrows her eyes. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together.”
I sigh like it pains me. “Fine. But if she tries to seduce me to get out of answering questions, I’m blaming you.”
Aria rolls her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m just saying,” I grin, “if I end up cursed by proximity, I want hazard pay.”
She shuts down the screen, already grabbing her jacket. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s go see if the queen of the Citadel knows anything about jewel theft… or if she’s just playing dress-up with stolen artifacts.”
As we head for the elevator, I glance at Aria. She doesn’t look thrilled—but neither am I. Still, I can’t deny it— we make a damn good team, even when we’re walking straight into the lion’s den.