The Luxembourg Gardens were bathed in golden light.
Michou, Jecolia, and Lynn walked ahead, chatting excitedly about the swimsuits they planned to buy for Greece.
Behind them, Yvan and Mélo stayed alert, the adrenaline from the black sedan still running through their veins.
Yvan felt his phone vibrate.
An encrypted message—but the tone wasn't urgent.
It was Lyam.
At just twenty-four, Lyam ran Paris's luxury black market like it was a video game, with unsettling calm.
Lyam:
"Nice family picture in front of the sushi place. The brunette on your arm has good taste… that watch she's wearing? Vintage piece from me, right? "
Yvan froze.
He looked up.
The black sedan was parked further down, along the garden gates.
The window lowered slightly.
A tattooed arm slipped out—waving casually.
Lyam:
"Drop by HQ tonight. We'll pay for your dry cleaning, champ. There's a stain on your polo—doesn't fit a future millionaire."
"I thought you told me: 'Money before women, Lyam.' Looks like the graduate is changing his priorities."
"Enjoy yourself, gentleman. We'll make fun of you over a drink later. "
A nervous smile escaped Yvan.
Lyam was the only one who could relax him…
While reminding him he was always being watched.
"That Lyam?" Mélo murmured, noticing the shift in his expression.
"Yeah. He saw us. He's making fun of me for playing romantic."
But the relief didn't last.
As they sat on the green chairs near the large fountain, Cheryle broke away from the girls.
She didn't sit with them.
She walked straight toward Yvan and Mélo.
She leaned in slightly, her hair brushing Mélo's shoulder.
Her perfume was soft.
Her voice—
Was not.
"The Audi RS6 parked two streets away from a garage in Saint-Denis last night at 2 AM…"
A pause.
"...that was yours, right, Yvan?"
Mélo's blood ran cold.
Yvan didn't move.
His eyes stayed fixed on the children playing with toy boats on the water.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Cheryle."
"Don't do that with me," she replied, her voice dropping—low, almost chilling.
"I know that car."
A pause.
"And I know the sedan that just passed by the restaurant."
She stepped around the bench.
Sat between them.
Elegant.
Controlled.
Not afraid.
"What exactly are you two doing?" she continued.
"This whole 'black market'… 'mafia' thing… what is it?"
Silence.
"Jecolia and Michou are angels," Cheryle went on.
"They think you're just… secretive guys."
A glance at Mélo.
"I saw the grease on your collar yesterday."
Then at Yvan.
"And I saw you pay a 600-euro bill without blinking."
She placed her hand over Mélo's.
Gentle.
Cold.
"If what you're doing puts this group in danger…"
A pause.
"I'll break you."
Another pause.
Then—
A faint smile.
"But… if you need a brain to cover your tracks and manage your 'alibis'…"
She leaned back slightly.
"We can talk."
Mélo and Yvan exchanged a stunned look.
She wasn't threatening them.
She was applying.
"You… you're not going to tell the others?" Mélo asked, his voice slightly unsteady.
Cheryle let out a soft, dark laugh.
"Why would I ruin their happiness?"
A small shrug.
"Reality is too ugly for them."
A pause.
"But for me… it's profitable."
She tilted her head slightly.
"So… what's the plan for tonight?"
"Hey!" Michou called from across the fountain.
"Are you plotting without us? Come here, there's amazing gelato!"
Cheryle stood up instantly.
Back to normal.
Perfect.
"We're coming!" she replied brightly.
She glanced back at the boys over her shoulder.
A knowing look.
"See you tonight at HQ, Yvan."
A faint smirk.
"I think Lyam likes me more than you."
She walked away.
Yvan didn't move.
Didn't speak.
One thought.
Cheryle already knew Lyam.