Novels by nugbleemily

Lucien's POVI leave Kane in the office.None of what Zolandria is saying makes any sense. I don't confront him, don't say what I know, don't give him any indication that the phone call changed anything. I tell him I'm going to Katherine's to collect Zolandria and I need him to hold the floor. I walk to the elevator, get in, the doors closing behind me. And in the privacy of thirty seconds of descending floors I let myself feel the gravity of what Zolandria is insinuating. Fifteen years.The only man I trusted with my entire being. verification.The elevator opens, I walk to the car, and drive.***Katherine's door opens before I knock.Sera, Katherine's woman, steps back to let me in without speaking. The apartment has a different quality from Vienna. Less suspended, and more intentional. Katherine is in the kitchen doorway with the expression of a woman who has been expecting my arrival because she has things to say and is choosing the right moment for them.I don't look at Kathe

Zolandria's POVThe zip ties are tighter than I'd imagined.I struggle with it for the first twenty minutes, but working at them produces nothing except the burning sensation of plastic biting into skin. I stop. Breathe. I've been pulling against the ties rather than working the joint. I shift position, painful, slow, and find the angle that creates the most movement at the weakest point of the bind. I start again.More methodical this time.Less pulling, more rotating. An hour passes, maybe more.My wrists hurt so bad, but I have made progress. I can feel it: the plastic is loosening up at the point I've been stressing. Not free yet, but getting there.I think about Kane while I work. He's been with Lucien for fifteen years.Whatever Edgard has over him- debt, history, or whatever- I’m sure it goes back further than me. This isn't about me. I was just the most recent operational variable he was managing alongside everything else. But that doesn't make it less devastating. It makes i

Lucien's POVAt three forty-seven pm, my phone rings. "She's not in the bathroom," Marcus says.I go very still."How long?" I ask."She went in at two oh five. It's now three forty-seven." He pauses, like he already knows what’s happened. "I waited until I was certain. The restaurant manager checked the bathroom personally, and she's not there. The back exit was unlocked from the inside."The back exit. Someone who knew the restaurant and had been in there before us or later. But this is planned. "Damien Castello," I say."Still at the table," Marcus says. "He doesn't know. He's been asking the waiter every twenty minutes."I think about it for a couple of seconds. "Bring him in," I say. "Not to the building. Somewhere quiet. I want to talk to him.""And the restaurant?""Lock it down. Nobody leaves until my people have spoken to every person on the floor." I'm already standing, and moving. "The kitchen staff, the bar, the people who were there when she arrived. Someone saw somethin

Zolandria's POVThe first thing that hits me is the smell; damp, concrete, like a closed space that doesn’t get light or air regularly. Then, I feel a dull pain at the back of my head where I was hit. I try to move my hands before I fully open my eyes, but I can’t. Only to open my eyes and see that they are bound behind me, with something that feels like zip ties. My ankles too, and something across my mouth, a tape. I try to let my eyes adjust to the room, but it’s dark, with just a source of light somewhere above and behind me. A single bulb enough to make me make out where I am, without giving anything away. Concrete floor, concrete walls, and the ceiling above me is low enough that I can make out the surface—a basement. I'm on the floor, not tied to anything, just bound, which means I can move if I need to. I'm on my side, which means whoever put me here positioned me carefully enough not to leave me face down, and that could only mean one thing, they need me alive. I breath

Zolandria's POVThree days at the beach house, and it’s been one of the best times in my life. Three days of the sea’s breeze, of Raven making tea at seven am and bringing it to the porch without asking, of long conversations that cover almost everything. Three days of just being Zoe—not Azaeres's daughter, not Lucien’s PA, just me. I needed it more than I knew.Monday afternoon, we finally pack up, ready to leave.Raven hugs me at the car, fiercely, like she didn’t want to depart from me. "Call me," she says. "Actually call. Not the building line.""I will," I say."And Zoe." She pulls back. Looks at me. "Whatever you're figuring out with him — figure it out. Don't let it sit unfinished."I look at her. "I know," I say."I know you know," she says. "I'm saying it anyway."She lets me go, and the car pulls away.I watch her in the rear window until the driveway curves, and she disappears.One moment salt air and open quality of somewhere without buildings and then the next moment, I

Lucien's POVI stand at the window for a while before I pick up my phone and call Mikhail first. “Find and book a coastal property within two hours of the city. Should be private, secured, and available immediately.” “Okay, give me a couple of minutes.”I hang up. A few minutes later, my phone pings with the address from him. Then I call Marcus and give him the address and the security arrangement. Two men stationed at the property, two more for the perimeter. “Don't take her to the city address,” I say. “Take her here.”“She's going to have questions,” Marcus says.“Tell her to relax.”Then I call Raven's number. She picks up on the second ring.“Mr. Dravik,” she says, wariness laced in her voice. ““There's a car coming for you in thirty minutes,” I say. “Pack enough for three days.”Silence.“Is she alright?” she asks. “She's alright,” I say. “She needs time away from here, and I thought you should be a part of that.”Another silence, longer this time, then. “Okay.”“Don't tel