Chapter Seven
She woke to anotherphone call.
The room was unfamiliar for a moment—too large, too quiet, the sheets too crisp against her skin—and then the memories came flooding back. Monaco. The hack. Leon carrying her through the terminal like she weighed nothing at all.
Leon.
Her phone was still ringing, and she answered it without thinking. “Hello?”
“I’m sorry I keep calling.”
But as soon as Lexy heard the voice from the other end, she already knew who it was.
“You’re in Monaco,” Lydia said shakily, “aren’t you?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because Ga—” Lydia stopped abruptly, and even through the phone, Lexy could hear the sharp intake of breath, the barely suppressed curse, and she knew right away that Lydia had almost let slip who was feeding her information about Lexy’s whereabouts.
“Look, it doesn’t matter how I know.”
I think it does,Lexy thought, with how Lydia was suddenly speaking to her with such sharpness.
“I just want to talk. And it’s something that I find difficult to explain over the phone. I was hoping we could meet?”
Every instinct Lexy had was screaming at her to say no, but instead she heard herself ask, “Where?”
****
The cafe was smalland bright, all white marble and gold accents, the kind of place that looked like it had been designed for women who wore silk scarves and ordered espresso without checking the price. Lexy felt immediately out of place in her rumpled clothes and messy braid, but she pushed through the door anyway because she had never been the kind of person to turn back once she’d committed to something.
No matter what.
She had resisted the temptation to look Lydia up online from the moment she’d learned of the woman’s existence. Some part of her hadn’t wanted to know—hadn’t wanted to put a face to the name that had haunted her since Shayla’s conference room, since the words‘long-term companion’had shattered everything she thought she knew about her marriage.
But the moment she stepped inside the cafe and saw the woman sitting alone at a corner table, she knew.
It wasn’t just that Lydia was beautiful—though she was, stunningly so, all dark hair and red lips and a figure that belonged on magazine covers. It wasn’t the designer clothes or the perfectly manicured nails or the way she held herself like someone who had never doubted her own worth.
It was her eyes.
The moment Lexy looked into Lydia’s eyes, she knew with absolute certainty that this woman still wanted Leonidas.
And had never planned to let him go.
“Thank you for coming.” Lydia’s voice was soft, halting, every syllable dripping with carefully manufactured vulnerability. “I know this is so...”
“Inappropriate?”
The word came out mild, almost gentle, but something flickered in Lydia’s expression—a flash of rage, quickly suppressed—and Lexy felt a grim satisfaction in knowing she’d landed a hit.
“I just wanted to give you a heads up.” Lydia reached into her bag and withdrew a manila envelope, sliding it across the table with the kind of graceful movement that suggested she’d rehearsed this moment. “I managed to buy the rights from the photographer, but I think he’s lying when he told me it’s the only copy he has. Leon doesn’t deserve this kind of trouble.”
Leon.
Not Leonidas.
Not Mr. Gazis.
