There’s no deal, no mercy, no way out of this room that leaves him breathing.
I let that realization settle in his eyes before the darkness closes around him.
His gaze sharpens again, calculation clawing through fear. “What is she to you? Do you love her?”
“She belongs to me. And I protect what’s mine.”
The words fall between us, heavy as gravity. His breath stutters.
I lean in until he can feel the intent radiating off me, colder than the metal at his throat.
“And protecting her means removing you.”
Then the world narrows to a single, decisive motion.
No hesitation or rage. Just execution.
The blade moves in a clean, controlled line. It takes training to make death this silent.
His gasp catches, sharp and startled, before dissolving into the strangled quiet of a body realizing it has lost the right to keep fighting.
His eyes search mine for mercy.
They find none.
I watch as his life fades, calm as still water.
No adrenaline. No victory. Just necessity settling into place.
In the hush that follows, my thoughts turn to her.
She’s safe now.
I wipe the blade with practiced ease to contain the mess. Just surface work. The real cleaning comes later, when I see the process through to the end.
The house remains quiet, the steady hiss of the shower drifting from the bathroom. She’s unaware and untouched by the violence unfolding in the next room.
I retrace my steps through the hallway, shadows folding around me.
When I slip outside, the night air is cool against my face—almost cleansing—and I inhale slowly.
I would burn the world down to protect Laurette Devereux.
That isn’t a vow or a threat. It’s a truth carved into bone.
The street swallows me as I fade into the dark. Another danger erased, another step taken toward keeping her untouchable.
Chapter 28
Laurette Devereux
Fear makes a lousy bedmate.
Last night was endless, stretched thin and suffocating for all the wrong reasons. Sleep never came in full pieces. I drifted for a few minutes at a time, only to jolt awake at the smallest noises—the light scrape of branches against the window, the soft groan of the house settling, the whisper of traffic outside. Every sound became a question. My heart never settled—and it still hasn’t—beating a frantic rhythm I can’t command back to calm.
Half of me kept listening for Bastien, for that charged shift in the air, for that unmistakable sense of him approaching before he ever touches a lock.
The other half of me waited for footsteps that didn’t belong to him, footsteps with intent, footsteps sent by Julian.
