I throw myself into preparation—poring over blueprints of the Faulks estate, satellite images, every scrap of intelligence we've gathered—but it's not enough to quiet the growing desperation in my chest.
Merlin and I exchange few words, both of us knowing that until we have confirmation, all we can do is wait.
And waiting has never been my strong suit.
EIGHTEEN
The Extraction Plan
Three daysafter Merlin's initial call, his phone rings. Tension spikes in the air as he answers. The conversation is brief, nothing more than a few gruff exchanges, but when he hangs up, there's a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
"They're coming. They'll be here tomorrow." The weight in his voice is slightly lifted.
Relief crashes into me, tempered by the anxiety still churning in my gut. "Good. That's... good." I can't shake the nerves coiling tighter. I'm a solo operator, not used to relying on others.
It's... difficult reaching out for help.
The next day dawns clear and cold. I'm up before the sun, restless energy thrumming through my veins. By the time a sleek black SUV pulls up the winding driveway, I'm pacing, practically crawling out of my skin.
Two men emerge from the vehicle. The first commands the space around him. He has a hulking build, muscles straining against his clothes, and a quiet authority that would make anyone think twice about crossing him. There's something about the way he moves—deliberate, precise—that tells me he's no stranger to dangerous situations.
But the second man draws the eye. A mountain of a man with a severe expression, shock-white-blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes, he's reminiscent of a Norse god—Thor incarnate. My fingers itch to paint him, immortalize him on canvas.
"Mr. de Gaulle." The first man extends a hand with a firm, steady grip. "I'm Sam, head of Guardian HRS. This is Forest Summers, the founder of our organization."
"Thank you for coming." I shake their hands, noting the quiet strength in their grips. "Please, come inside."
As we enter the study, they take in the room with those same keen, assessing gazes. These aren't just hired muscle; they're strategists, calculating every possible angle of the situation.
What do they see when they look at me? A desperate man? A lovesick fool? Or maybe, just maybe, they recognize something familiar—a man willing to move heaven and earth for what matters most.
We settle into the leather chairs around the fireplace. Sam leans forward slightly, clasping his hands as he speaks, his voice calm yet unmistakably authoritative.
"Before we begin, I need to be clear about one thing. Guardian HRS doesn't engage in kidnapping or any non-consensual extractions. Your colleague mentioned extenuating circumstances. If the subject doesn't want to leave?—"
"She does." I cut him off, urgency clear in my voice. "Trust me, she wants out."
Sam's attention flicks to Forest, who watches me with an unnerving silence. It's as if he's measuring me, weighing the truth of my words without needing to speak.
A moment of quiet, then Sam claps his hands and moves the conversation forward. "Tell us the details."
I exhale, steadying myself. "Vivianne Faulks is being forced into a marriage she doesn't want. She's been under her father's control for years, but now it's getting worse. They've arrangedfor her to marry Prescott Harrington, but she's unwilling. She's tried to resist, but her father's a powerful man, and he has ways of making sure she complies. They've all but imprisoned her within the Faulks estate, cut off her ability to communicate."
Sam listens intently, his expression unreadable, but his mind is already working through the logistics.
"The estate is heavily fortified." Merlin interjects, tone cautious. "She's under constant surveillance, is never left alone, and has no freedom. Her father's not giving her a choice. She's being manipulated and controlled."
Forest's deep voice rumbles into the conversation, his first words since arriving. "You said she wants to leave. Are you certain of that? This isn't the kind of job we take lightly. If she has doubts, if she's not fully on board?—"
"She's sure." My voice is firm. "Vivianne isn't some spoiled girl running away from a wedding. She's trapped. She's been trying to get out for months, and now she's running out of time. If we don't move soon, her father will have full control over her life, and she'll be stuck in that marriage for good."
"What's the estate like? What kind of security are we dealing with?" Sam sits back, his gaze never leaving mine.
I pull out the blueprints of the Faulks estate and lay them across the table. "The Faulks family is wealthy and well-connected. They've invested in top-of-the-line surveillance, armed guards, and a state-of-the-art security system. The estate is a fortress."
"With all the increased security, it's nearly impossible to get in unnoticed." Merlin leans forward. "They're expecting the wedding to go off without a hitch, and they've locked down the estate to keep any unwanted eyes out."
Forest studies the blueprints, arms crossed over his massive chest. "We'll need to disable the security systems and neutralizethe guards. Getting in is one thing. Getting out with Vivianne is another."
