"Boss, the girl she's gone!" The call came just as Lucien stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung low around his waist and another draped over his damp hair, phone pressed to his ear.
"I thought I told you to keep an eye on her," he said as he hurried out of the dressing room.
He was about to bark orders to check the dog when he stepped into his room—and froze.
There she was.
Meret was lounging in his armchair, one leg tucked beneath her, spinning slowly in circles with a bored look on her face. Her fingers toyed lazily with something on his desk.
"I found her," he muttered into the phone, then ended the call.
He crossed the room and placed a hand on the back of the chair, bringing it to a stop. She swiveled around to face him, expression far too smug for someone under lock and key.
"I thought I told you not to leave the damn room."
"You didn't specify which room," she said with a shrug. "And it's not like I planned to escape or anything. You still have my dog."
She tilted her head, mock-thoughtful.
"Although… now that I think about it, I should have pretended to run. Your guys would've opened the vault, realized the dog was still inside, maybe even left the door open. Then I could've grabbed Cray Cray and made a clean getaway."
She paused.
"But I didn't do that. So stop staring at me."
She pointed to his torso.
"You too."
Lucien plucked the piece of paper Meret had taken from his desk right out of her hand, without breaking eye contact.
"Why are you in my room, Quinn?"
Meret let out a dramatic gasp. "Calling me Queen already? You really are obsessed with me."
"You say that, but you're the one breaking into my space. Looking for something to steal, Little Mouse?"
"First of all, let's circle back to Queen. Much better title. Second… I don't do cheap."
She waved a hand toward his shelves. "Your Rolexes, your Montblancs, those overpriced sculptures? They don't thrill me."
Lucien paused, studying her.
She wasn't lying. From what he'd seen of her apartment through the surveillance feed, she lived with almost no luxury. Strange for someone who'd stolen enough to rival his own Net worth.
"Anyway, I came to tell you I'm done reading the file on the first name on your list." Meret rose from the chair, stretching lazily. "It's four. What time do we leave?"
Lucien let go of the chair and headed into his dressing room. He grabbed a pair of trousers, pulled them on, then snatched a black shirt from the bed and tugged it over his head…
…and nearly jumped when he lowered it and saw Meret already in his closet, fingers brushing over one of his hoodies.
"Cute," she said, giving it a once-over before slipping it back on its hanger.
Lucien bit back the urge to ask how the hell she'd gotten there so fast. Instead, he simply said,
"We're leaving. Now."
Lucien finished dressing, slipped on his watch, rolled his cuffs, and without a word, grabbed Meret's wrist. He led her out—room, hallway, elevator, building.
Every few seconds, he checked his grip.
Just to make sure she hadn't swapped herself with a vase, a coat rack, or something worse while he blinked. With her, nothing was off the table.
They left the penthouse and stepped into the waiting car. Lucien typed something into his phone, and moments later, the driver pulled out onto the road.
Unknown to Lucien, Meret already had an idea of where they were going.
Not because he'd told her, but because she'd read the file enough to piece it together with what she already knew about the first guy on the list.
She assumed they were headed straight to the location but when the driver skipped all the route that could possibly take them there, and when the buildings faded and traffic thinned and the city gave way to silence… something tightened in her gut.
But she said nothing. To speak would be to admit too much. And if Lucien caught even a whiff of her bluff, the game would shift, and not in her favor.
So she sat still.
Head turned toward the window. Hands folded in her lap. But her stomach was sinking fast.
They soon pulled off the main road and into a gated airstrip.
A black helicopter waited at the center, blades already spinning.
Meret raised an eyebrow, unable to hold her tongue any longer.
"Don't tell me this is just about avoiding traffic," she said, careful not to let on that she knew anything more.
Lucien stepped out, opened her door, and gestured.
"After you, Little Mouse."
Meret gave him a dry look but stepped out of the car. The wind from the rotors whipped her hair across her face as she followed the concrete path toward the waiting helicopter. Lucien stayed close behind.
She climbed in first, settling into the leather seat. He followed, wordless, the door shut behind them, sealing them inside the thrum of noise and tension.
Some minutes after the helicopter lifted and took them further into their destination, Lucien cast a glance at Meret, who sat too calmly for his liking.
"We're heading to one of my private estates. That's where you'll be staying until the deal's done."
Meret didn't look at him. Her eyes stayed on the endless stretch of ocean below.
"Prison sounds more subtle," she muttered.
Lucien didn't rise to the bait. He watched her in silence for a beat, then leaned back as the helicopter began to descend.
Below them, a long stretch of green unfolded—tamed wilderness and modern luxury stitched into one. The helipad sat at the edge of a winding stone path that disappeared into lush, manicured trees.
They entered the open-air jeep that waited by the helipad. It wound through the manicured path until a sleek, modern villa came into view—glass, steel, and silence.
Once inside, Lucien turned to her.
"You have five minutes to get ready. We leave for the auction soon."
Then, almost as an afterthought, he added. "While you're here, you'll have everything you need. Room, food, wardrobe. Privacy."
He paused. "Except freedom. That's off the menu until you've held up your end."
Meret shot him a look. "And how do I know you'll hold up yours?"
"That wouldn't be a problem if you hadn't stolen from me." His tone didn't rise, but it sharpened. "And stop sniffing around for leverage. You're not going to find any."
He motioned toward a man in black, holding a sleek briefcase. Lucien flipped it open, pulled out a silver necklace.
"I need you to wear this. It's rigged with a sensor—any tampering—"
"I'm not taking off my necklace," Meret cut in, voice flat.
She touched the gold chain around her neck, eyes hard. "Your attempt to play dominant is cute, but this piece stays. It's the only thing I have left of my family. I don't take it off—not for anyone. If that's a problem, kill me now and save yourself the trouble."
Lucien didn't speak right away. He'd noticed the necklace at the gala and also on the Feed where he was watching her from… and had assumed it was just part of the act. Now, it looked like something more. He wondered what made it so important that she couldn't take it off, even for the sake of her heist to prevent being caught.
He decided to probe at that story later.
Silently, he reached back into the case and pulled out a ring.
"Then wear this," he said, holding it out. "It stays on. You so much as tug at it, I'll know. And if that sensor pings, the deal is off. You know what that means."
Meret reached for the ring, but Lucien caught her hand and slid it onto her middle finger himself
Lucien turned to the women standing quietly by the door. "Five minutes. Get her ready."
As he walked off, Meret watched him go.
He thought she was the one with no leverage to manipulate the game.
What he didn't know…
Was that he was hers.