Andrea entered using her keycard. She closed the door quietly behind her. The city was a distant thrum against the windows of Benoit’s penthouse office.
She stood in the center of it all—the polished black marble floor gleaming beneath her designer heels, the weight of silence pressing like a velvet glove around her shoulders.
She wore a tailored Dior dress, sharp as a scalpel and just as deadly. She walked over to the bar inset into the wall and poured herself a glass of vintage Bordeaux.
Taking a sip, she walked over to the vast bank of windows and stared down. The glass of Bordeaux rested in her manicured hand, the deepcrimson catching the recessed lighting like blood in a goblet. Her lips curved, thoughtful… amused.
Less than ten minutes later, the door behind her opened with a soft click. She didn’t turn. She didn’t have to. Robert’s polished presence had hardly needed a psychic to predict.
“I assume you’ve heard,” Robert said, his voice steady, professional. Predictable.
Andrea tilted her head in a brief bow of acknowledgement. “Yes. It was to be predicted. He never should have gone up against Kiki alone.”
“I wouldn’t say he was exactly alone,” Robert retorted in a dry tone.
Robert came to stand beside her, slipping his hands into the pockets of his dark gray slacks. He kept his gaze focused on the city below. Andrea took another sip of her wine.
“I expected you to be more… upset,” he murmured.
“You expect me to weep for Benoit?” she asked, finally turning her head to glance at him.
His jaw tensed. “No. Perhaps. You were married.”
“Benoit was married to his research. I was simply his lover,” Andrea said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
He partially turned, his gaze flicking to the sleek monitor embedded in the wall. Three photos were on display: Kiki, all fire and defiance… Eric, his expression an icy fortress… and Brie, worry and resolve clashing behind her eyes.
“I would have thought perhaps you’d reconsidered continuing Benoit’s research. With CRI involved, this path could be—unwise.”
Andrea sighed, her gaze slipping from Robert to the glowing screen. “Benoit made a fatal mistake in allowing sentiment to cloud his judgment. He saw Kiki as a legacy. A child. A symbol of his brilliance.”
She paused.
“He forgot what she was created to be.”
Robert shifted slightly, discomfort flickering in his eyes. Andrea walked over to the desk.
She set her wineglass gently on the edge. Lifting her hand, her fingers caressed the screen even as she pulled open the side drawer of her late husband’s desk. She reached in and pulled out the cold steel of the 9mm Benoit had kept there.
With a sigh, she turned back to face Robert.
Robert stiffened when he noticed the gun in her hand. “Andrea?—”
“One of Benoit’s other flaws,” she interrupted smoothly, “was letting dead weight linger in the room.”
The shot rang out like the final punctuation at the end of an essay.
Robert’s body jerked backward, crimson blooming across his shirt as he crashed to the floor in stunned silence.
Andrea moved to stand over him. Her face was an exquisite mask of serenity, as if she was untouched by the cold-blooded act she had committed.
“I’m sorry, Robert, but it was time for our liaison to end. I hope you understand. It’s not personal, but your feelings for Kiki made you a liability,” she said softly, gazing down at the life ebbing from his eyes. “Tell Benoit I said hello.”
She stepped over him without pause, retrieved her wine, and took one last sip.
Outside the door, the two bodyguards in dark suits turned sharply as she exited.
“There’s a mess in my office,” she said coolly. “Get a team in to clean it up. And make sure the body’s never found.”
