Henry will stand beside me. That helps. His support carries weight with the old guard, the members who remember building LaCroix Petroleum with my father. But there will be questions. Judgment. Speculation about whether this makes me a liability.
I turn off the water, towel dry with movements that feel mechanical. My reflection in the mirror shows someone who looks put together—hair damp but styled, skin clean, expression controlled. The CEO mask is firmly in place.
I turn, checking over my shoulder. The marks from the flogger are still visible across my ass—pink welts from the lighter strikes, deeper color where he hit harder. Part of me expects to feel ashamed. Violated. Like these marks are proof of weakness.
Instead, heat pools low in my belly. These aren't weakness. They're evidence of the strength it took to finally let go. To stop performing and actually surrender. The same strength I'll need when I walk into that boardroom and face down executives who've been waiting years for me to fail.
Luc marked me. Claimed me. Made me feel things I've spent years pretending I didn't need.
Except I can still feel his hands on me, the rope around my wrists, the blindfold stealing my sight, the way he fucked me like he owned me, like my body was his to use however he wanted.
And I loved it—every second, the surrender, the helplessness, the complete absence of control.
It should terrify me more than the stalker. But it doesn't. There's a strange comfort in knowing someone else can take control when I need it. That I don't have to carry everything alone.
I pull on silk pajamas and head downstairs. The guest house is quiet. Luc's probably coordinating with his team, tracking Julien's location.
Except when I reach the bottom of the stairs, Remy's there instead.
"Simone." He straightens from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter. "Luc had to step out. I'm here until he gets back."
My throat tightens. "What happened?"
"Julien's phone pinged at your building. LaCroix Petroleum headquarters." His tone stays carefully neutral. "Luc's checking it out."
"He went alone?"
"He has backup. Andy's meeting him there." Remy moves to the security panel, checks the feeds. "You're safe here. Perimeter's locked down, cameras active, I'm not going anywhere."
I sink into a chair at the kitchen table. Julien's at my building right now, after planting a camera at Dominion, after being identified on facial recognition. He should be running, hiding, trying to avoid detection.
Unless he wants to be found.
Cold slides down my spine. "This is a trap."
Remy's gaze sharpens. "Explain."
"Julien's smart. Strategic. He's settled multiple stalking cases out of court with NDAs. Avoided criminal charges despite documented obsessive behavior." I stand, pace to the window, then remember the email threat and step back. "Someone that careful doesn't suddenly fuck up. He wanted us to find that camera. Wanted us to trace the signal to the warehouse. And now he's at my building, phone signal active, making sure we know exactly where he is."
"Drawing Luc away from you."
Luc's at my building chasing Julien. I'm here with Remy. We're separated, vulnerable in ways that have nothing to do with physical security.
"We need to call him back," I say.
Remy's already pulling out his phone. The call connects but goes to voicemail. He tries again. Same result.
"He's not answering." Remy's voice stays level, but his posture shifts—alert, assessing. "Could be operational silence. Could be signal interference in your building."
"Or he's walking into exactly what Julien wanted."
Remy texts rapidly. Waits for response. Nothing comes through.
"I'm calling Andy." He dials, and this time someone picks up. "Andy. Luc's not responding. What's your status?" A pause. "Copy that. Keep trying him. And don't let him go in alone."
The call ends. Remy turns to me. "Andy's a few minutes out. Building security confirmed Luc's entry via keycard at the executive elevator a couple minutes ago. No check-in since."
That's long enough for anything to happen.
