The lights steadied, but the chill they left behind didn't.
Marcel stared at the black screen as if willing it to betray more secrets. I watched his face instead. The controlled billionaire mask was still there—but beneath it, something sharp moved. Recognition. Calculation.
Fear.
I had never seen him afraid.
"Tell me," I said quietly. "Tell me who did this."
He didn't answer immediately. He turned away from the screen and walked to a glass wall that overlooked another level of the underground complex. People were moving again below us, brisk and purposeful, unaware that the rules of their world had just shifted.
"This enemy," I pressed. "You said you hoped they'd never notice me."
Marcel's reflection stared back at him in the glass. "Because they don't take pieces," he said. "They take people."
I felt cold all over. "Who are they?"
He turned to me slowly. "The Valen Consortium."
The name meant nothing to me—and that terrified me more than if it had.
"They exist outside governments," he continued. "Outside laws. They don't rule markets. They rule consequences."
I swallowed. "And you replaced them?"
"I took something they believed was eternal," he said flatly. "Power that was passed through bloodlines, not balance sheets."
"And now they want it back."
"No," Marcel corrected. "They want a message sent."
My chest tightened. "Through my brother."
"And through you."
The air felt heavier, like the walls were inching closer.
"You said they hoped to destabilize you," I whispered. "What if they already have?"
His eyes snapped to mine—sharp, offended.
"Do not mistake concern for weakness," he said. "This changes nothing."
But it had.
I could feel it.
A guard knocked once and entered without waiting. "Sir. Incoming communication. Encrypted. No traceable origin."
Marcel's expression went completely still. "Put it through."
A screen descended from the ceiling. Static flickered—then resolved into a dimly lit room.
A man sat in the shadows.
I couldn't see his face clearly, but I felt him. The way his presence seemed to lean forward through the screen, curious and patient.
"Marcel Blackwood," the man said smoothly. "Still fond of underground bunkers, I see."
Marcel didn't respond.
The man chuckled softly. "And you brought your wife. How… considerate."
My heart slammed. "He knows me."
"Yes," the man continued, as if answering my unspoken fear. "Elena. Such a pretty name for something so temporary."
I took a step forward before Marcel could stop me. "Where is my brother?"
The man smiled. I could hear it in his voice. "Alive. Comfortable enough. For now."
"Touch him and I swear—"
Marcel's hand closed around my wrist, grounding and warning all at once.
The man laughed. "Ah. There it is. Marcel's weakness. Still human after all."
"I warned you," Marcel said finally, his voice low and lethal. "You crossed a line."
"I crossed your line," the man corrected. "You crossed ours years ago."
The screen shifted slightly, the light catching just enough of his face for me to see one eye.
It was smiling.
"You stole power you didn't understand," he continued. "And now you're hiding behind a woman you never meant to care about."
Marcel didn't deny it.
That silence screamed.
The man leaned back. "Bring her."
My breath hitched. "What?"
"You heard me," he said pleasantly. "Bring Elena to us. Walk away. Your brother goes free."
"No," Marcel said instantly.
The man sighed theatrically. "You see? This is why I like you. Always decisive. But you misunderstand."
The screen flickered again.
My brother reappeared—this time closer. His face was pale, eyes wide with fear. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"Every hour you delay," the man said calmly, "he loses something. Fingers first. Then vision. Then hope."
I screamed his name.
The screen went black.
Silence crashed down like a physical force.
I rounded on Marcel, yanking my arm free. "You said he was leverage. That he'd be alive."
"He is," Marcel said tightly. "For now."
"You're bargaining with monsters!"
"I am a monster," he snapped. "I just follow rules."
I stared at him, shaking. "Then why won't you trade me?"
The words hung between us, dangerous and fragile.
"Because they won't stop with you," he said. "And because—"
He stopped himself.
"Because what?" I demanded.
His jaw clenched. "Because I don't hand over what's mine."
The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver through me—not comfort, not fear, but something far more complicated.
"You don't own me," I said.
"No," he agreed quietly. "But they will kill you to prove they can."
"I don't care," I said. "That's my brother."
He stepped closer, towering over me. "And if you die, Elena, he dies anyway. Slowly. Painfully. Publicly."
I recoiled. "Then what's your plan?"
Marcel turned away, already issuing commands. "We hunt."
"Hunt who?"
"The man you just spoke to," he said. "Lucien Valen."
The name settled into my bones like a curse.
"He doesn't show his face," Marcel continued. "Ever. Which means today wasn't a threat."
"It was an invitation," I whispered.
"Yes."
Guards flooded the level again. Screens lit up. Maps shifted. Red zones bloomed across continents.
Marcel moved through it all like a general born for war.
"You're not leaving my side," he said without looking at me.
"I'm not hiding in a room while my brother—"
"You're not hiding," he cut in. "You're participating."
That stopped me.
I looked at him sharply. "How?"
"Lucien likes games," Marcel said. "And he likes control."
He finally turned, eyes dark and intent. "Which means he's going to come for you himself."
A chill ran through me. "You said he never shows his face."
"He will," Marcel said. "Because you intrigue him."
"That doesn't sound like a plan."
"It's a trap."
I laughed weakly. "For who?"
Marcel stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "For him."
The next forty-eight hours blurred together.
Training rooms. Strategy briefings. Wardrobes replaced with discreet armor sewn into silk. A new phone placed in my hand—untraceable, encrypted, lethal in its own quiet way.
"You walk into the lion's den," Marcel instructed, fastening a delicate bracelet around my wrist, "and you let him believe you're unguarded."
"What if he takes me?"
"He'll try."
"And if he succeeds?"
Marcel's fingers stilled for just a second. "Then I burn his world down."
That night, the mansion hosted a gala.
Crystal chandeliers. Music. Laughter.
The kind of night where monsters wore smiles.
I descended the staircase on Marcel's arm, cameras flashing, whispers rippling through the crowd.
The perfect wife.
The perfect bait.
I felt it before I saw him.
A gaze—not hungry, not crude—but assessing. Curious.
Dangerously amused.
I turned my head slightly.
A man stood near the bar, impeccably dressed, watching me with open interest.
Our eyes met.
He smiled.
And in that instant, my bracelet vibrated once against my skin.
A warning.
Lucien Valen had arrived.
He raised his glass in a silent toast.
And mouthed two words I felt more than heard.
Hello, Elena.