Through the window, I watched Mila grow smaller as the car pulled away, her figure framed by the Paris street like a photograph I'd never taken.
And all I could think was:Merrick.
This was his game.
Separate us. Isolate me. Make me useless while he made his next move.
But what was the next move?
The car turned a corner, and Mila disappeared from view.
My jaw tightened.
Whatever Merrick was planning, he'd just made a mistake.
Because now I wasn't just worried.
I was pissed.
And when I got out of this—when, not if—he was going to regret ever coming to Paris.
22
MILA
The police cars disappeared around the corner with Connor inside one of them, and for a moment the street felt hollowed out. Like sound had been siphoned away. Like the city had inhaled and forgotten to exhale.
I stood there longer than I should have.
People moved around me—pedestrians, bicycles, a woman tugging a child along by the hand—but I felt suspended, untethered from the rhythm of everything ordinary.
My fingers curled around my camera strap, instinctive, grounding. The leather was warm from my body. Familiar. Proof I was still here.
I didn’t know how long passed before the black car rolled to the curb.
It didn’t announce itself. No urgency, no sirens, no show. It simply appeared, sleek and quiet, as if it had always been part of the street’s architecture. The back door opened, and Connor’s butler stepped out.
Seeing him did something unexpected to my chest.
Relief. Immediate and unguarded.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “I was hoping you’d wait.”
I exhaled, something in my chest finally unclenching. “I didn’t know where else to go,” I admitted. My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
“Quite understandable,” he said, as if I’d just commented on the weather. “May I?”
He gestured toward the open car door, then paused, regarding me with polite consideration. “Ellsworth,” he added, extending a hand I hadn’t realized I needed. “I work with Mr. Ward.”
“I know,” I said softly. I had seen him before—hovering at the edges, moving with quiet authority. “I mean … I recognize you.”
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his mouth. “Good. That saves us both a great deal of explanation.”
As I slid into the back seat, I glanced at him again. “How did you know where I’d be?”
He closed the door gently, then met my eyes through the window, his expression calm and unruffled. “I have a tendency to know where I’m needed,” he said. “One picks up the habit in my line of work.”
I hesitated. “You make it sound effortless.”
