His smile is dangerous. "You're going to take that footage away from them before they can use it. Go public on your own terms. Control the story."
"You want me to admit to my board that I'm being stalked before they can weaponize it against me."
"I want you to stand in front of Henry Castellanos and tell him everything. The surveillance, the threats, the fact that your uncle is funding it. Make him your ally before Armand can make you his target." Luc's gaze holds mine. "You said you'd dare the board to fire you. Now's the time to prove it."
He's right. Waiting for Armand to strike gives him all the power. But if I control when and how the information comes out, if I frame it as being targeted rather than being caught...
"I'll call Henry in the morning," I say. "Set up a meeting for tomorrow afternoon."
"Not tomorrow. Tonight." Luc's already texting. "We move before they realize we found the camera. Before they know we're ahead of them."
Margot's phone buzzes. She reads the message, and her expression shifts. "Facial recognition just came back on the maintenance worker. Julien LaSalle."
The words hit like a physical blow. Julien himself. Not some hired contractor. Not a random operative. Julien, walking into Dominion in disguise, planting a camera in the room he knew I'd be using.
"How did he know?" The question comes out raw. "How did he know which room, which night?—"
"That's what we're going to find out." Luc's voice is deadly calm. "But first, you're calling Henry. Right now. We're not waiting for morning."
My hands shake as I pull out my phone. It's nearly eleven. Henry will be asleep. But Luc's right—we can't wait.
I dial. The phone rings four times before Henry's voice comes through, groggy and concerned.
"Simone? What's wrong?"
"I need to see you tonight. It's urgent."
"Tonight? Simone, it's almost eleven?—"
"Please, Henry. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't critical."
A long pause. Then: "My home office. I'll be waiting."
The call ends. I look at Luc. "He'll see me now."
"Good." He's already moving toward the door. "Time to get ahead of this."
8
LUC
The drive to Henry Castellanos's house cuts through quiet Garden District streets. Simone sits beside me in the armored SUV, not speaking. This isn't the performative silence she used when testing boundaries. This is real quiet. She's working through what just happened.
My attention stays on the threat assessment. I check mirrors, scan side streets, watch for tails. Standard operational protocol. But part of my focus stays on her—the way she's folded her hands in her lap, the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremor when headlights sweep past.
This isn't from the surveillance, though that would be enough. This is from what happened before we discovered the camera. From finally feeling the difference between performing submission and actually surrendering.
I've seen it before in people who've had their foundations crack—the stillness when you're trying to hold yourself together.
"You good?" I ask.
"Yes." Her voice is steady. Controlled. "Just thinking about what to tell Henry."
"Tell him the truth. Someone's stalking you. Professional surveillance. Your uncle might be funding it. You need his support before Armand weaponizes the footage."
"That simple?"
"That simple." I take the turn onto Henry's street. The street is lined with historic mansions and old money—the kind of neighborhood where privacy is currency. "He's either your ally or he's not. You'll know soon enough."
