Page 87 of Twisted Devotion

Nothing.

I exhale, my pulse steadying—just barely—before I turn my attention to the room. His desk is large, commanding. The surface isalmosttoo clean, except for a stack of papers and a bottle of rum.

I move quickly.

My fingers skim across the desk drawers. One by one, I open them, searching. Invoices. Shipment documents. I flip through them rapidly, scanning for anything that feelsoff.

Every few seconds, my eyes dart to the door. Paranoiacrawlsup my spine.I’m doing this for my freedom. I remind myself.

I keep searching, sifting through papers—minutes stretch, frustration building. And then—Jackpot.

A black folder. No label. No markings.Different.

I hesitate, my thumb tracing the edge. My chest tightens.Do I really want to see this?

Do I want to confirm what I already suspect?

Yes.

I open it. And the moment I do,I know. I’m holdinghismaster plan in my hands.

The first page is a timeline—calendar dates marked with specific times and locations for raids. The folder suddenly feelsheavier.

I flip through it, my pulse pounding. It’s meticulous. So detailed that, for a fleeting second, I’m almostimpressedby whoever put it together.

These are the secrets of his empire.Nicolas’ secrets.

I turn another page.

Maps. Schedules.

Strategic plans detailing everything—where his men will be stationed, how they’ll move, which territories he’ll seizefirst.

My breath quickens as I scan through it all.

He’s methodical. Ruthless. The precision in his planning—down to thesmallestdetail—sends a chill down my spine.

I take as many pictures as I can, my hands moving fast.

Just the first page aloneholds enough information tobuy my freedom. But I don’t want to give Marco any excuse to sayno. So I keep going.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

When I’m finally satisfied, I shut the folder and return it to its place, ensuringeverythinglooks untouched.

My fingers tremble slightly. I force myself to stay calm. I can’t afford mistakes. Not now.

I run a hand through my hair, glancing around the office one last time.

Deep breath.

First, I need to get out of here. I need to be back in the kitchenbefore Nicolas gets home.

I sprint towards the door, cracking it open. Before I can even check if the coast is clear-

“Aria?”

My heart stops. For a second, I swear I’m about topass out. Slowly, I turn. Nicolas stands there, a small frown creasing his brow. My pulse hammers so hard I think it mightgive meaway. But somehow—by somemiracle—I manage to pull myself together.

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