Chapter 32 Marlena
I woke at four-thirty AM, my body still on New York time.
The suite was dark except for the city lights filtering through the curtains. Nikolai slept on his side of the bed, as far from me as possible, his breathing deep and even.
I'd barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Viktor's face from those surveillance photos, changing and shifting like a nightmare.
I slipped out of bed carefully, my feet silent on the cool marble floor.
Nikolai didn't stir.
I grabbed clothes from my suitcase in the dark – jeans, a t-shirt, nothing that would draw attention – and changed in the bathroom with the door locked.
My reflection in the mirror looked tired. Dark circles under my eyes. Hair tangled from tossing and turning.
Marie Laurent stared back at me, but I still saw Marlena underneath.
I needed to move fast. Hotels like this always had business centers for guests who needed to work at odd hours.
The hallway was empty, silent except for the hum of air conditioning.
I took the stairs instead of the elevator, not wanting to leave an electronic trail of which floors I'd visited.
My heart hammered against my ribs with each step down.
What if Nikolai woke up? What if he'd put a tracker on me somehow?
I pushed the paranoia away. He couldn't track everything. He wasn't god.
The business center was on the second floor, tucked away near the conference rooms. A small brass plaque on the door read "Centre d'Affaires – 24 Hours."
Perfect.
I pushed inside.
The room was empty. There were only four computer stations, a printer, and fluorescent lights that buzzed softly overhead.
I chose the computer in the corner, farthest from the door, and sat down.
My hands trembled slightly as I opened the browser.
This was it. My chance to get ahead of Nikolai's plan, to find Viktor before he could use me.
I typed carefully: Laurent Moreau Monaco
The search results loaded slowly, my pulse quickening with each second.
Most were irrelevant – other people with similar names, business listings, random social media profiles.
Then I found it.
A gallery website from three years ago, announcing a private auction at Villa Rêverie. The preview images showed wealthy collectors in evening wear, champagne glasses in hand, admiring paintings I recognized from my forgery days.
And there, in the background of one photo, standing near a Degas sculpture: him.
The face was different from the surveillance photos in Nikolai's files. Older. The nose was slightly different, more refined. The jawline softer but the eyes were the same.
Viktor Rousseau, hiding behind Laurent Moreau's face.
I stared at the screen, my chest tight.
He looked healthy and comfortable in his stolen life while my mother had rotted in prison and I'd sold my soul to save my brother.
Rage burned through me, hot and clarifying.
I clicked through more photos, taking mental notes of everything. The villa's exterior. The guest list published in the fine print. The auction house that had organized the event.
Then I found the address buried in the event details: Villa Rêverie, 47 Chemin de la Turbie, Monaco.
My hands were steady now as I pulled a pen from the desk drawer and wrote it down on a hotel notepad.
47 Chemin de la Turbie.
The address where my father lived, where he'd been hiding for years while I'd struggled and suffered and become someone I didn't recognize.
I folded the paper carefully, tucking it into my jeans pocket.
Then I cleared the browser history, shut down the computer, and left the business center as quietly as I'd entered..
The sun was starting to rise as I climbed the stairs back up, painting the stairwell pink and gold.
My mind raced with plans. I needed a car. I needed to find that villa and confirm he was actually there before I made any moves.
And I needed to do it all without Nikolai knowing.
The suite door opened silently. I slipped inside, already preparing my excuse for being gone but the bedroom was no longer dark.
Nikolai sat in one of the armchairs by the window, fully dressed, a cup of coffee in his hand.
His grey eyes locked on me the moment I entered.
My stomach dropped.
"Where were you?" His voice was calm, conversational, but I heard the edge underneath.
Think fast, Marlena.
"Couldn't sleep." I moved toward the kitchenette, keeping my voice light. "Went downstairs for coffee. Jet lag."
"The coffee here is excellent." He took a sip from his cup, watching me over the rim. "Room service delivers in fifteen minutes."
Shit.
"I needed to walk," I said, opening the mini fridge like I was looking for something. "Clear my head."
"At five in the morning."
"Time zones are a bitch."
I grabbed a bottle of water I didn't want, cracking it open to have something to do with my hands.
Nikolai set down his cup slowly, deliberately, then he smiled.
It was small, barely there, but it made my skin crawl.
"You're lying," he said simply.
"I'm not–"
"You are." He stood, moving toward me with that predatory grace that reminded me exactly how dangerous he was. "Your tells are subtle, but they're there. The way you won't quite meet my eyes. How your hand went to your pocket when you walked in."
My fingers had touched the folded paper unconsciously.
Fuck.
"I went for coffee," I repeated, forcing myself to look at him directly. "That's all."
"If you say so." He stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could smell his cologne. "But we're partners now, Marie. Husband and wife, remember? Secrets between us could be dangerous."
The way he said "Marie" sent a chill down my spine.
He was reminding me. We weren't Nikolai and Marlena here. We were Jean and Marie Laurent and Marie Laurent had no reason to be sneaking around at dawn.
"No secrets," I lied smoothly. "Just insomnia and bad hotel coffee."
His eyes held mine for a long moment.
I didn't look away or flinch. Then, finally, he stepped back.
"Get dressed," he said, returning to his chair. "We have brunch at eleven with some of Monaco's art collectors. You'll need to look the part."
"Of course." I moved toward the bedroom, desperate to put distance between us.
"Marlena."
I stopped, my hand on the doorframe.
"Next time you can't sleep," he said quietly, "wake me. We can take a walk together."
The words sounded caring, concerned.
They felt like a threat.
"Sure," I managed. "I will."
I closed the bedroom door behind me and leaned against it, my heart racing.
The folded paper in my pocket felt like it was burning through the denim.
47 Chemin de la Turbie.
Did he know I'd been in the business center? Had he followed me somehow?
The suite had cameras back in New York. Did this one have them too?
My eyes scanned the bedroom, looking for the telltale glint of hidden lenses, but I saw nothing.
That didn't mean they weren't there.
I pulled out the paper, reading the address one more time before hiding it in my makeup bag, tucked inside an empty lipstick tube where casual searching wouldn't find it.
My hands shook slightly as I did it.
Nikolai's smile replayed in my mind. That knowing, predatory smile that said he saw right through me.
Did he know about the address? About my plan?
Or was he just testing me, seeing how far I'd go, how much I'd lie?
I couldn't tell anymore. The lines between truth and deception had blurred so completely that I wasn't sure either of us knew where one ended and the other began.
What I did know: he was watching. Always watching.
I wondered if he followed me everywhe
re, if he'd somehow tracked my movements even in the few minutes I'd been gone.
The thought made my skin crawl.
I needed to be more careful from now on.
Much more careful.