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Nick shoots him another look before returning his focus to me. “Gear up. We leave in twenty.”
He turns on his heel and stalks out, not looking back.
* * *
We enter the casino and Nick stops, surveying the room.
“Stop fidgeting.” His voice is low, a command wrapped in silk and steel, brushing against the shell of my ear from where he stands behind me.
I freeze, spine straightening under his gaze. His presence is heat at my back, steady and unmoving. Unshakable.
“We’re just gathering intel,” he murmurs, the words precise. “You’re here to be seen, not heard. A visual asset. Fortier doesn’t know Nick Ryeland and Nikolai Beaumont are the same man. They call me the Ghost for a reason.”
“But he’s met me before.”
“I know,” Nick says, his tone even. “It’s a calculated risk. But to someone like Fortier, you’re a detail. A polished ornament. If he recognizes you at all, it’ll be vague—pretty company, not a strategic threat.”
He steps closer, his fingers brushing the line of my bare shoulder, adjusting the drape of the green silk strap. “You belong to me tonight. Let him believe that. Let him look and see something he wants, and know it’s already claimed.”
My breath catches, and I let my hand fall to my side. The air between us hums—charged, electric, thick with a tension I don’t dare name. Not here. Not yet.
But I feel the truth settle between us like a live wire: I’m not just a pawn in this game. I’m the piece Nick intends to use very, very deliberately.
His fingers brush the back of my neck, adjusting the diamond collar he snapped around me five minutes ago. The diamonds are real, but not the sentiment. It’s not real, just an expensive prop, but the possessive weight of it feels all too real.
“Remember the rules,” Nick murmurs, his lips just inches from my ear. “You’re here as my submissive, which means you act like it. You speak when spoken to. You let me lead. And if anything goes sideways, you let me handle it.”
I meet his gaze in the mirror, my reflection a study in defiance despite the glittering collar at my throat. “I don’t need you to handle me.”
His grip tightens slightly, enough to make my pulse race. “You will follow my orders, Cherise. If you can’t do that, I’m pulling you out now.”
Heat flashes through me—not just from his dominance, but from the raw energy radiating off him. I know this isn’t about the role we’re playing tonight. This is about him trying to control the one thing he can’t—me.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to relax against him. “I’ll follow your orders,” I say, my voice softer.
His fingers linger at the nape of my neck for a moment before he lets go. “Good girl.”
Damn him for how much that praise affects me.
Nick straightens, stepping back as he adjusts the cuffs of his black suit. The dark fabric molds to his body, every inch of him exuding power and control. No one would doubt that he belongs in a place like this—Cerberus has prepped him well for this world. He looks like a king stepping into his domain.
And me? I look like the woman who belongs to him.
* * *
The casino’s private lounge is dimly lit, the glow of chandeliers casting golden reflections over the polished marble floors. This isn’t the bustling floor where tourists throw away their fortunes at blackjack tables. This is the domain of Monaco’s elite—billionaires, criminals, and power brokers who strike deals worth millions over aged scotch and a well-placed bet.
And tonight, one of those deals involves René Vallois.
Nick’s hand is firm on the small of my back as he guides me through the space, his touch a silent warning to play my role.
I lower my gaze, my lashes sweeping down as I lean slightly into his touch. It’s not hard—I feel the heat of his body, the possessive way he maneuvers me through the crowd, keeping me close enough that no one doubts exactly what I am to him.
His.
I shiver.
From the corner of my eye, I spot two men seated at a private table near the back of the lounge. One of them, a tall man with silver at his temples and a sharp European cut to his suit, lifts his glass to his lips as he surveys the room. His gaze lingers on me for a beat too long.