Chapter 37 Marlena
The morning felt wrong from the moment I opened my eyes. It felt heavy with something I couldn't name.
The knife was still under my pillow where I'd left it. I touched it once for luck, then slid it into my clutch.
The black dress hung in the closet, exactly where Nikolai had placed it two days ago.
I'd refused to look at it then, to acknowledge what it meant but today, I pulled it out and laid it on the bed.
It was beautiful in a severe way. It has high neck, long sleeves.
The kind of dress that said wealth and taste and don't fuck with me.
Exactly the armor I needed.
I showered first, letting the hot water burn away the last of my hesitation.
Today, everything changed. I stopped being bait and became the hunter.
The bathroom mirror was fogged when I stepped out. I wiped it clear with my hand.
My reflection stared back, water dripping from my hair.
I looked different, like something inside me had calcified overnight.
Good.
I dried off and did my makeup carefully.
I applied foundation to hide the dark circles. Mascara to make my eyes look bigger, more innocent. Red lipstick that matched the dress's dark elegance.
Marie Laurent looked back at me from the mirror but underneath, Marlena Rousseau waited.
The dress slid on like a second skin. It fit perfectly, of course. Nikolai had my measurements memorized.
I zipped it up and studied myself.
The woman in the mirror looked powerful and dangerous. Nothing like the scared girl who'd signed a contract in a Brooklyn apartment months ago.
I barely recognized her.
A knock on the bedroom door made me jump.
"We leave in twenty minutes," Nikolai's voice came through the wood.
"I'll be ready."
I heard his footsteps retreat.
I finished getting ready in silence. I wore my diamond earrings that probably cost more than a car and heels that made me three inches taller. My hair was pulled back in a sleek bun that Colette would have approved of.
When I finally opened the door, Nikolai stood by the window in a black suit.
He turned when he heard me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
He looked devastatingly handsome. The suit fit him like it had been painted on. His hair was perfect. His face was that cold, beautiful mask he wore so well.
But his eyes held something I couldn't read.
"You look –" he started, then stopped.
"Ready?" I finished for him, my voice sharp. "I am. We should go. Don't want to be late for your grand finale."
I walked past him before he could say more.
The car was waiting downstairs.
Anton held the door open, his face professionally blank.
I slid into the back seat. Nikolai followed, keeping as much distance between us as the car allowed.
The drive to Villa Rêverie took thirty minutes.
We didn't speak or look at each other. We just sat in tense silence while Monaco rolled past the tinted windows.
I watched the scenery change from city to coast. The roads got narrower, winding up into hills where only the truly wealthy lived.
Villa Rêverie sat on a cliff overlooking the sea.
It looked like the kind of place that appeared in architecture magazines.
The kind of place where monsters hid behind beauty.
My stomach churned as we pulled up to the gate.
Two guards stood there in black suits.
One approached the car.
Anton lowered the window, handing over an invitation embossed with gold lettering.
The guard studied it carefully, then looked into the back seat.
His eyes passed over me, then Nikolai.
For a terrifying moment, I thought he'd recognize us. I thought the whole thing would end right here at the gate.
Then he nodded and stepped back.
The gates swung open.
We drove through, gravel crunching under the tires.
My heart hammered so hard I thought everyone could hear it.
The main entrance was already crowded with people. Expensive cars lined the circular driveway. Men in tuxedos. Women in gowns that cost more than most people made in a year.
The art world's elite gathered to spend obscene amounts of money on beautiful things.
Anton parked and opened our door.
Nikolai stepped out first, then offered his hand.
I took it because I had to.
His fingers were warm around mine, steady despite everything.
We walked toward the entrance together, playing our parts.
Perfect couple. Wealthy collectors. Just another pair of faces in the crowd.
No one looked at us twice.
Inside, the villa was even more impressive. The floors were marble. There were crystal chandeliers. Art on every wall that probably belonged in museums.
Waiters circulated with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. A string quartet played in the corner.
Everyone laughed and talked too loud, the way rich people did when they wanted everyone to know they were having a good time.
I took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, needing something to do with my hands.
Nikolai stayed close, his hand on my lower back.
To anyone watching, we looked comfortable together.
Inside, I was screaming.
My eyes scanned the room, looking for Victor.
There were maybe fifty people here, all dressed in black and jewels, all drinking and laughing like this was just another party.
I studied faces, comparing them to the surveillance photos I'd memorized.
Not him. Not him. Not him.
Then I saw him.
He was by the far side of the room, standing near a Monet that was definitely real.
He had silver hair. He was tall and well-dressed in a way that looked effortless.
He was older than in the photos. The plastic surgery had changed his face, softened the edges but I knew him.
The way he stood. The way his eyes moved across the room, calculating, assessing.
The way he looked at people like they were things he could own.
Viktor Rousseau. My father. The monster who'd destroyed everything.
My heart stopped for a beat, then started again too fast.
His eyes swept across the crowd, then they found me.
Everything else disappeared. The music. The laughter. The people.
Just him and me, locked in a stare across a room full of strangers.
Recognition flashed in his eyes. He knew who I was.
Even with the years between us and the woman I'd become instead of the child he'd abandoned.
He knew.
A slow, cold smile spread across his face, like a snake deciding whether to strike.
My stomach turned. Bile rose in my throat.
This was him. This was the man who'd let my mother rot in prison. Who'd abandoned Luka and me without a second thought.
The man who'd partnered with Nikolai's father and betrayed him and destroyed families and lives and never looked back.
And he was smiling at me like seeing me was a gift or a prize he'd won.
Nikolai's hand tightened on my waist. He'd seen it too.
"Breathe," he whispered against my ear.
I realized I'd stopped.
I forced air into my lungs. Once. Twice.
Viktor was still watching, still miling that horrible smile.
He raised his champagne glass slightly. A toast. A greeting.
A threat.
My hand moved to my clutch, feeling the outline of the knife through the fabric.
I could do it. Right here, right now.
I could cross the room, pull the knife and this before Nikolai could stop me.
But there were too many people and took many guards. I'd never make it out alive.
Not yet.
I met Viktor's eyes across the room and didn't look away.
I didn't smile or acknowledge his toast. I just stared at him with all the hatred I'd been carrying for years.
His smile widened, like my anger pleased him.
Then he turned away, back to his conversation, dismissing me.
The rage that flooded through me was so white-hot, that for a moment I couldn't see.
Nikolai's hand on my waist was the only thing keeping me grounded.
"Not yet," he whispered, reading my mind. "Not here."
I wanted to scream at him. Tell him I didn't care about his plan. I didn't care about anything except making Viktor pay but I didn't.
Instead, I took a sip of champagne and let Marie Laurent's mask slide i
nto place, calm and collected like every other wealthy woman at an auction.
But underneath, Marlena Rousseau was sharpening her knives.
I whispered to myself, so quietly that even Nikolai couldn't hear.
"This ends today.”