Page 7 of Code Name: Ghost

I laugh, surprised by how easy it is. "Do lines like that usually work?"

He tilts his head, amused. "Only when they’re true."

We walk in silence for a moment, just long enough for the air to thicken with something… heavier. His presence is magnetic, a little too poised. A little too smooth. But I have always been drawn to dangerous things dressed in velvet.

"Do you live in Lyon?" I ask.

"I do. I work with Interpol." He pauses. "What about you? Student? Artist? Or just someone who hasn’t figured out yet that this city is more bite than beauty?"

"Maybe a bit of all three."

He chuckles. "I like that."

We stop at the corner; the light blinking red. He doesn’t move away. He just waits, umbrella still shielding me, gaze still anchored on mine.

"I’m Hector," he says, holding out his free hand.

"Cherise."

"Lovely name for a lovely mystery." He takes my fingers in his—warm, firm, deliberate. “I hope this won’t be the last time we meet.”

I smile, a little caught off guard by the pull I feel. By how easy it is to believe him.

Looking back, I wonder if that was the moment I should’ve turned away.

But I didn’t.

* * *

Paris, France

Two Years Ago

The Parisian night drapes itself in velvet, the city’s golden lights shimmering off the Seine as I step onto the red carpet leading into the grand gala. The event is being hosted in the Palais Garnier, its ornate façade towering over us, a testament to its history of luxury and power. I should be awed, but instead, I feel like I can’t breathe.

The diamonds circling my neck feel like a noose and the dress like a second skin that I can’t wait to shed. Hector’s hand is a vice around my arm, his grip firm but deceptively light—his grip promises consequences if I step out of line. That bureaucratic smile—the one that convinces people he’s charming instead of a man who collects secrets like currency—is curved on his lips.

“Cherise, behave,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for his breath to tickle my skin. "I expect you to be gracious. Tonight isn’t about you."

Of course not. It never is.

I swallow back the nausea that rises, plastering on a neutral expression as we step into the marble-lined foyer. The air hums with conversation, champagne glasses clinking, laughter bubbling over the soft strains of a classical quartet. It’s a room full of power—diplomats, dignitaries, old money, and newer, dirtier fortunes draped in designer couture.

The gala is a celebration of Jordan James-Fitzwallace, known simply as JJ, and her relentless efforts to combat human trafficking. The woman is a legend, a one-woman guardian angel rescuing women from the darkest corners of the world—the ones governments conveniently forget, the ones taken by men who see them as nothing more than a commodity to be traded, sold and used in any way they see fit.

I should admire her, but all I feel is resentment curling in my stomach. No one saved me—not because they didn’t care, but because no one knew I needed saving. I’d gotten too good at pretending. I wore the illusion like armor, and no one ever saw the cracks.

No one even sees me as someone who needs saving.

Hector tightens his hold as he leans toward a group of men dressed in sleek black tuxedos, their uninhibited laughter a stark contrast to the tension gripping my spine. He releases me long enough to shake hands, his voice dropping into polished French as he begins networking. I take a deep breath, silently counting down the hours until I can escape.

That’s when they catch my eye.

A cluster of men in Navy dress uniforms, their crisp white jackets standing out in the sea of dark suits. Their presence shouldn’t unnerve me. They’re just men, here like everyone else. But my vision tunnels, and suddenly I’m somewhere else—another time, another place with men in white uniforms shattering my world.

Back in the present, the memory slams into me like a fist to my gut. I wrap my arms around myself, struggling to shake it off. Nick is gone. No amount of staring at those uniforms will change that.

I turn sharply, desperate for air, and collide with a woman.

---