Because I've decided: I won't say "I do." No matter what Father threatens, no matter what Prescott promises, no matter if Paul doesn't come. I won't speak those words that will seal my fate.
The swan in the ruby knew what I'm only now learning—sometimes being frozen between two states is better than surrendering to the wrong one. Sometimes the flight itself, even if it never ends, is better than the cage.
More vehicles arrive below. More strangers in uniforms, more boxes being unloaded, more preparation for this grand performance where I'm both the star and the sacrifice.
But they don't know the script has changed.
They don't know the cavalry is already here, hidden among the caterers and florists and photographers.
They don't know that Paul de Gaulle keeps his promises.
The stylists pack up their tools, pronouncing me ready for the next phase—the dress. But I'm not ready. I'll never be ready for the dress that will be my shroud, for the veil that will be my blindfold, for the rings that will be my shackles.
Yet I smile at them, thank them, play the part of the grateful bride.
Because in a few hours, when Prescott waits at that altar and Father walks me down that aisle, when five hundred of society's finest gather to watch me be sold?—
That's when the real show begins.
TWENTY-SIX
Paul: Operation Swan Song
Four-thirty AM.The farmhouse kitchen smells of gun oil and bitter coffee.
I've been awake all night, memorizing every detail of the estate's layout until the blueprints are burned into my retinas. Every door, every window, every possible entry and exit point. But it's the path to the vault that I've traced a hundred times with my finger—wine cellar, 1947 Château d'Yquem section, hidden door, corridor, biometric lock. Vivianne's whispered instructions replay in my mind on an endless loop.
The Guardian team moves around me, transforming the rustic space into a tactical command center. Jenny checks her camera equipment one final time—the Nikon that conceals a Glock 19, two spare magazines, and a ceramic knife that won't trigger metal detectors. Mac and Blaze inspect their security uniforms, ensuring every detail is perfect down to the company logos and ID badges that Mitzy forged yesterday. John and Brett do the same with their catering company attire. Charlie adjusts her florist's apron, tucking communication equipment into the pockets.
"Stop pacing." Merlin doesn't look up from the EMP watch he's examining. "You're making everyone nervous."
"I'm not pacing." But I am. Back and forth across the worn wooden floors, unable to stay still when every cell in my body screams to move, to act, to get to Vivianne now.
"You're going to wear a groove in the floor." He looks up from the watch. "And that's coming from someone who once watched you stand perfectly still for six hours while casing the Louvre."
"That was different."
"How?"
"It just was." I can't explain that stealing paintings never made my hands shake like this. Never made my chest feel like it might explode from the pressure building inside. This isn't a heist—it's everything.
Jenny claps her hands once, sharp as a gunshot. "Circle up. Final briefing."
We gather around the table where she's spread out aerial photos of the estate. Red circles mark entry points. Blue lines show patrol routes. Green dots indicate camera positions. It looks like a battle plan because that's what it is.
"Team One." She points to John and Brett. "You're in with the catering company at 0500. Kitchen access, staff areas. Your job is to map internal movement patterns and identify any additional security we missed."
They nod. Both ex-military, they've done this type of reconnaissance before.
"Team Two." She indicates Charlie. "Florist delivery at 0515. You'll have access to the main house, specifically the bridal suite. Make contact with the target, assess her condition, and signal if there are any complications."
Charlie grins, checking the small camera hidden in her bouquet holder. Despite her warm demeanor, she has a gift for reading situations quickly. "What counts as complications?"
"If she's drugged, restrained, or injured. If there's a guard posted inside her room. If she shows any hesitation about the extraction."
My jaw clenches at the worddrugged. The thought of Prescott or her father?—
"Team Three." Jenny continues, and I force myself to focus. "Mac and Blaze with the security company at 0530. Blend in with the existing detail, redirect actual security when the extraction begins, and make sure our exit routes stay clear."
