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43:MARIE

Penulis: June Estee
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-05-21 07:30:09

MARIE

The door gave way with a quiet click, revealing a space that stole my breath.

I’d expected something industrial, half-done, maybe an abandoned lounge with scaffolding and tarps. But this… this was art. The hallway I stepped into had been transformed into a curated gallery. Everything about it whispered wealth instead of shouting it. Clean white walls stretched toward a vaulted ceiling supported by matte black beams. Spotlights cast soft glows onto massive abstract paintings. Some textured, some almost translucent, like they’d been painted with fog.

The air was cool and sharp, laced with the scent of fresh paint, varnish, and something softer; lavender and vetiver, probably coming from the sleek black cubes tucked into the corners. The poured concrete floor gleamed like polished marble, reflecting the soft overhead light. I walked slowly, eyes scanning the space, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

Behind the glass walls, what I’d assumed was a sleek curtain turned out to
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  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   44: MARIE

    MARIEThe air was thick with tension as I stepped out into the open, my heart hammering inside my chest like a frantic drumbeat. Every instinct screamed at me to keep my head low, to avoid drawing any attention—especially from Garrick. If he spotted me, or anyone else who recognized me, everything would collapse. I had to stay invisible, a ghost in this tangled web.I scanned the driveway winding up the hill from my hiding spot, and my eyes locked on the convoy approaching. More vans, just like Eli’s—but these were different. They were all black, matte, and cold. Tinted windows that reflected the grim overcast sky like dark mirrors, and their frames looked military-grade, brutal and unwelcoming. Their presence screamed power, secrecy, and danger.The vans rolled in silently but purposefully, as if they owned the road. I felt my breath hitch. Maybe Victor was inside one of those vehicles. Maybe this was the real business—the hidden machinery behind the elaborate cover-up art business f

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   43:MARIE

    MARIEThe door gave way with a quiet click, revealing a space that stole my breath.I’d expected something industrial, half-done, maybe an abandoned lounge with scaffolding and tarps. But this… this was art. The hallway I stepped into had been transformed into a curated gallery. Everything about it whispered wealth instead of shouting it. Clean white walls stretched toward a vaulted ceiling supported by matte black beams. Spotlights cast soft glows onto massive abstract paintings. Some textured, some almost translucent, like they’d been painted with fog.The air was cool and sharp, laced with the scent of fresh paint, varnish, and something softer; lavender and vetiver, probably coming from the sleek black cubes tucked into the corners. The poured concrete floor gleamed like polished marble, reflecting the soft overhead light. I walked slowly, eyes scanning the space, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.Behind the glass walls, what I’d assumed was a sleek curtain turned out to

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   42: MARIE

    MARIEI woke up before the sun.My body ached from the stiff mattress, and the back of my neck was damp with sweat. Outside, the early morning air was still, but heavy with the promise of heat. I didn’t need an alarm. The thought of what I had signed up for was enough to keep me half-awake all night.I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes, the silence around me was strangely loud.Henry hadn’t stirred. His door was shut, a thin sliver of yellow light cutting through the bottom of it. Maybe he was already up. Maybe he never slept deeply either.I dressed up quietly, jeans again, the same shirt. Nothing that would stand out. I braided my hair into a single, tight plait, then tucked it into a cap. I left my shoes by the door and walked barefoot into the kitchen.The food from last night was gone. The plates cleaned, dried, stacked neatly beside the sink. A covered plastic bowl sat on the counter with a note tucked under it:“Eat before you go. Don’t come back if you’re going to bring trouble.”

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   41: MARIE

    MARIEThe house smelled of grilled fish and roasted plantains the moment I stepped through the door. That scent—smoky, peppery, homey—hit me like a memory I hadn’t lived. Comfort food. The kind of smell that tricked you into believing the world outside hadn’t tried to ruin you.Henry sat at the wooden dining table, hunched over a chipped white plate. The food was half-finished. A small bowl of pepper sauce sat beside it, thick and red and dangerous. A cold bottle of malt stood open, droplets sweating down its brown neck like it too was weary.He looked up, eyes landing on me with a quiet tiredness. “You can serve yourself if you want some… I need some rest,” he said, voice gravelly like it had scraped against the day.“Thank you,” I murmured.Henry didn’t move right away. He stared at me like he wanted to ask something, like he was holding a question between his teeth. Then he pushed himself to his feet and reached for his plate. His joints cracked faintly. He moved like a man carryin

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   40: XAVIER STORM

    XAVIER STORMI sat in the car for a while after the call ended. The city’s lights were starting to flicker on amber and white and cold blue smudges in the distance. I let the silence sink into my bones, let it wrap around the raw nerves that had been exposed all day.The drone search felt like my last card, and for the first time in days, I didn’t feel like I was spiraling. If Marie was still in the city, and I believed she was, then she was now contained. Trapped between the woods and the water. She wasn’t invincible, she was that clever. But even clever people got tired. Got sloppy.I started the engine and pulled away from East View. The tires crunched over gravel, my window halfway down to let the wind cut across my face. A part of me expected to see her silhouette in every shadow. Every passing pedestrian could’ve been her, hood up, eyes sharp, disappearing before I could blink.But none of them were her.I drove home. Not the hotel, I needed real life, not the sterile quiet of l

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   39: XAVIER STORM

    XAVIER STORMI wasn’t chasing her anymore. I was losing to her.I stayed in the suite long after Jane was gone. Alone, watching the ice in my drink melt, watching my reflection shift in the window glass.Everything was unraveling.This was supposed to be simple: track her down, bring her back, punish her, remind her who she belonged to. But Marie was nothing like the girl I first suspected. She was something else entirely, smoke and mirrors, always slipping just beyond reach.And me? I was chasing shadows. Grabbing ghosts.“Fuck,” I muttered, slamming the side of my fist against the bar.My knuckles throbbed.I called Bull.He answered fast. “Boss.”“Where exactly did Jane say she found the truck?”“Boss, she said that several times to you, are you ok?”“Just fucking answer the question.” I yelled, which was uncalled for, and I knew it.“Close to the Inn of the Marina road.”Else mentioned buying fuel. Everything added up.”“She didn’t lie?”“Nah. I watched her face. Scared, but she w

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   38: XAVIER STORM

    XAVIER STORM“If you weren’t Marie… then where the hell is she?”Back at the hotel, I was vibrating with rage.This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I should have had her in the backseat; bruised, breathless, but caught. Instead, Bull was dragging in someone I didn’t even recognize beyond the hoodie and the panic.The girl was limp, unconscious from the chase, tossed over Bull’s shoulder like some wild animal finally cornered.He dropped her on the suite’s polished floor with a grunt.My jaw tightened.“Put her in the chair.”Bull dragged her across the tiles and sat her upright. She was waking up slowly now, groaning, lashes fluttering. Her wrists and ankles were bound with zip ties. Gag still in place. I crouched beside her, breathing in her sweat and street grime, studying every inch of her face.Something was… off.Her nose wasn’t the same.Her mout

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   37: XAVIER STORM

    XAVIER STORM“She’s close. I could feel it.”As I dashed out the front door, Else’s voice drifted from somewhere in the hallway.“Going out again?” she called, her tone laced with pity.I didn’t slow down. Didn’t even glance back. This was it, my shot. If I hesitated now, she would vanish again.I yanked open the SUV door and jumped in, slamming it shut with a force that rattled the frame. The engine was already humming, it was left on standby. I shifted into gear and moved out of the compound, tires squealing against the slick concrete.The city blurred past in flashes of gray and gold as I sped toward the Marina. My phone buzzed against the dash, it was Bull’s text. I tapped to open. A location. Coordinates.I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.Quick tap, I opened Google Maps. The red pin pulsed near the East View District, close to the Marina but pushed deeper inla

  • MISTRESS OF THE GAME   36: XAVIER STORM

    XAVIER STORMI didn't sit. Couldn’t. My blood was too hot, my thoughts too fast. I paced the room like a caged animal, barely hearing Bull behind me. The walls felt too tight, the ceiling too low. That woman had taken more than my patience, she had taken the center of my storm.“You think she will reach out to him soon?” I asked, stopping by the glass wall that overlooked the city.“I would bet on it,” Bull said, voice steady. “People run to where or who feels safe.”I nodded, jaw clenched.That was what made her dangerous. She made people feel safe. Even I had felt it once. The softness behind her smart mouth. The vulnerability she tried to bury under fire and defiance. That softness had cost me more than I cared to admit.But I wasn’t going to lose this round. No.I turned. “Have the Sandpiper Inn watched. Someone might still remember her. If they do, pay them. If they lie, pay them more. If t

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