Chapter 4:The Call

"If you are hearing this message, the plan has failed and they are coming for you."

The recorded voice of Adrian Moreau hissed through the phone speaker, freezing the blood in my veins. I hadn't even pressed dial. The second the eleven digits had populated the screen, an automated audio file hidden deep inside Lucien’s own phone had triggered.

"Do not trust your husband," Adrian’s recording continued, the metallic distortion making his voice sound like a ghost. "If you have found the numbers on your skin, you successfully erased your memories before Lucien could extract the truth. Find the red ledger. It is the only leverage keeping you alive."

The recording clicked dead.

I stared at the black screen, my lungs seizing up. *Erased my own memories?

A heavy, violent pounding hit the oak door, making me drop the phone onto the silk sheets.

"Time is up, Nadia." Lucien’s voice bled through the thick wood, vibrating with impatient authority. "Get dressed. The perimeter is breached."

"Breached?"

Panic flooded my system. I scrambled off the bed, sprinting toward the massive walk-in closet. My reflection flashed in the mirrored doors—a terrified ghost in black silk. I threw open the closest wardrobe doors. Instead of women's clothing, rows of dark suits stared back at me.

"Nadia, open this door!" Lucien barked, the brass handle rattling violently.

"I can't find my clothes!" I yelled back, tearing frantically through the hangers.

I stumbled toward the back of the closet, my hands hitting heavy garment bags. Behind them, tucked into the darkest corner, was a small, locked black safe.

I froze. The red ledger.

"Stand back," Lucien’s voice boomed from the bedroom.

"CRACK."

The sound of the door splintering sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through my spine. He was kicking it in.

I grabbed a thick cashmere sweater from a shelf, pulling it over my head to hide the collarbone scar, just as the closet door was ripped open.

Lucien stood in the doorway, a matte-black handgun gripped loosely in his right hand. The sheer violence radiating from his posture was suffocating. He swept the closet in a rapid, tactical assessment before locking onto the bed.

He saw the phone resting on the silk sheets.

"Did you make a call?" he demanded, his voice dropping an octave into absolute, lethal danger.

"No," I lied, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. "I didn't know the passcode."

Lucien stepped into the closet, grabbing my arm. His grip was unyielding as he dragged me into the bedroom. "We have to move. They bypassed the outer gates."

"Who?" I shrieked, tripping over the sweater as he hauled me toward the shattered door. "Who is coming?"

"The people you stole from," he snarled, pushing me into the cavernous hallway. Alarm klaxons screamed in the distance, bathing the corridor in a pulsing red light.

Three men in full tactical gear sprinted up the staircase, clutching assault rifles. I screamed, trying to pull back, but Lucien shoved me behind his broad shoulders, raising his weapon.

"Status!" Lucien roared over the alarms.

"Four hostiles in the west wing, sir!" the lead guard shouted. "They aren't taking prisoners. They’re executing the staff. They are looking for your wife."

My stomach plummeted into an endless abyss. *Executing the staff? Because of me?

"Get her to the panic room," Lucien ordered. He turned to me, grabbing my face with his free hand, his thumb pressing brutally hard against my jaw. "You stay in the vault. You do not open it for anyone but me. Understand?"

Before I could nod, a deafening explosion rocked the foundation. The floor heaved, throwing me violently against the wall. Smoke poured up the staircase, followed by heavy boots crunching over shattered glass.

"Mr. Voss!" the guard yelled, raising his rifle toward the smoke. "It's Moreau’s men!"

I looked at Lucien in sheer horror. Adrian Moreau wasn't trying to help me. He had sent a hit squad to kill me.

And the man I was warned never to trust was the only one stepping in front of the bullets.