13. CHAPTER 11 #4
Marcus: White linen over steel, Zane. I’ve had the platforms power-washed and a sound system installed that will shake the foundations of the Louvre.
As we left the Fernández estate, I’d consciously waited for the victory of the day to hit me properly. It was barely there. I sank on the leather seat, flicking through previous messages from the chat to keep my head together.
Paris drifted past us as we made our way into the city. We stopped at a traffic light as a train thundered overhead in the distance, the vibration briefly syncing with the muted buzz of the continuous chat.
Adrien: Underground. No windows. No sunlight. No prying eyes from the balconies of the 16th Arrondissement. I’m in.
I considered typing something, to join the conversation. I wasn't sure why I was hesitating.
Elias: Just closed a deal. I need to erase the last 72 hours of my memory. Tell me that station has zero cellular signal.
Marcus: Completely jammed. Faraday cage around the entire platform. If the world burns while we’re underground, we won’t know until the ashes hit the ceiling.
Zane: God, that’s beautiful. I’m emotional.
Menace.
Adrien: Security?
Zane: Yeah Marc, tell me you didn’t bribe the RATP again.
Marcus: I didn’t bribe them, Zane. I sponsored their pension fund. The power is back on, the tunnels are scrubbed, and the transit police are on a paid holiday.
I could almost see Marcus's smirk, the tilt of his head, and the unhinged satisfaction in his eyes as he delivered this. Yes, we all moved through the same morally bankrupt circles and understood how corruption worked. Marcus simply enjoyed it more openly than the rest of us.
Elias: I love it. Nothing says Paris like a private party fifty feet beneath the tourists.
Julian: Perfect. I’m bringing the liquid assets. Confiscated a case of ‘61 Bordeaux from a client who breached the terms of our arrangement. It tastes like ruined reputations and victory.
Adrien: Sounds good. I asked Renee to bring in some of the girls from last time. I’ll handled the logistics for the rest of the performers. No one under a certain height, no one with a social media following.
The chat kept rolling, bubbles stacking faster than my attention could follow. I placed my phone down on the leather sit and looked outside the window. Afternoon traffic built around us, but I found my mind was still stuck in that hallway for some fucking reason I couldn’t purge.
My phone continued vibrating. I picked it up again.
Marcus: Where’s Kade? I audited the NDAs without running it through you. We’ll discuss it later. Its just to make sure if a single detail of the night leaks, it’ll be a liquidated damages claim that will bankrupt their grandchildren.
The entire group chat broke into a rage of laughter. Throwing emojis across the chat.
I stared at the screen for too long. A month ago, I would’ve read this with detached amusement, locked my phone, and shown up without thinking twice.
But tonight, it felt different, as though I was being challenged.
A silly dare thrown directly at the part of me that had paused in a hallway because a woman breathed a laugh above my head.
A weak man would've called it distraction. I called it sheer discipline.
Returning to the version of myself I recognized and understood. The version that didn't hesitate or get distracted by anything.
I typed with one hand, my expression unchanged.
Me: Send the coordinates.
The reply came instantly, like they’d been waiting for the satisfaction.
Zane: Oh he speaks. Someone mark the date. Our resident sociopath has blessed the chat with words.
Fucker.
Marcus: Coordinates sent.
More messages followed. I didn’t read them.
As the car stayed trapped in traffic, the chat kept buzzing on the seat beside me. I opened my laptop and logged onto the Stratum server. I wanted to see her. Or maybe the urge to look at her just once finally won.
The feed loaded instantly, and her room filled the screen.
Léonie sat tucked into the loveseat by the window in jeans and a loose T-shirt, one leg crossed beneath the other while she scrolled through her phone.
Her hair still down, the dark strands spilling over her shoulders, and despite the distance and grain of the surveillance feed, I could still see the tiredness etched into her expression.
I found myself wondering who she was texting. Her friends, probably.
For one brief, deeply inconvenient second, I imagined what it would feel like if my phone lit up with her name right there in the middle of the chaos flooding the group chat.
What the fuck was wrong with me today?
She didn’t even have my number…on purpose. I hadn’t reached out either. Also on purpose. None of it changed anything.
I kept watching the feed, studying her expression until I noticed the smallest smile beginning to form at the corner of her mouth. Mine remained the same.
I didn’t believe in love, but I believed in possession. It made far more sense to me. Léonie Fernández belonged to me now, whether she understood that yet or not.