The Road to Paris

The hum of the jet engines was a steady background noise as Emma sat by the window, staring out at the vast expanse of clouds below. The private plane was luxurious, the leather seats smooth beneath her fingertips, but none of it eased the tension in her chest.

Their destination: Paris. Their mission: infiltrate the Black Gala and find the man known only as The Revenant—the ghost behind the Collective's operations.

Emma turned her head slightly to glance at Alexander, who sat across from her, his focus entirely on his laptop. His sharp blue eyes scanned through encrypted files, his fingers moving rapidly across the keyboard.

"Anything useful?" she asked.

Alexander didn't look up. "Still sorting through what we got from Vance. But if this gala is as exclusive as he said, security will be tight."

Marcus, sitting across the aisle, chuckled as he stretched out his legs. "Come on, Lex. It's a party. How bad can it be?"

Emma shot him a look. "A party filled with international criminals and arms dealers?"

Marcus grinned. "Sounds like my kind of people."

Alexander sighed and shut his laptop. "We're still finalizing our entry plan. The guest list is locked down, but we might have a way in."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Might?"

Marcus smirked. "Relax, sweetheart. We have a solid lead."

Emma crossed her arms. "Let's hear it."

Alexander pulled out his phone and swiped to an image of a man in an expensive suit. "This is Vincent Laurent. French billionaire, art collector, and a regular at these kinds of events. He was invited."

Emma frowned. "So?"

Marcus chuckled. "So, Vincent Laurent is currently unconscious in a Swiss hospital after an unfortunate skiing accident."

Emma's eyes widened slightly. "Wait. You're saying—"

Alexander nodded. "I'm taking his place."

Emma exhaled. "That's risky."

Marcus grinned. "What's life without a little risk?"

Emma ignored him. "And what about me?"

Alexander's lips curled slightly. "Vincent Laurent was supposed to bring a plus-one. That'll be you."

Emma sighed. "Of course it will."

Marcus gave her a wink. "Don't worry. I'll be watching from the sidelines, running recon."

Emma leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes for a moment. "And security?"

Alexander tapped the armrest. "State-of-the-art. Metal detectors, armed guards, surveillance everywhere."

Emma opened one eye. "And we're getting past that… how?"

Marcus pulled out a small device. "We have a contact in Paris. They'll provide what we need once we're inside."

Emma exhaled. "So, to summarize: We're sneaking into one of the most exclusive events in the world, surrounded by criminals, with no weapons, and hoping we don't get caught."

Marcus grinned. "Pretty much."

Emma shook her head. "Great."

The plane continued its descent.

They were almost there.

---

Paris – The Black Gala

The estate was breathtaking. An 18th-century château standing on the outskirts of Paris, its grand façade illuminated by golden lights. Luxury cars lined the driveway, dropping off guests dressed in the finest designer attire.

Emma stepped out of the sleek black limousine, the cool Parisian air brushing against her skin. Her black silk gown hugged her figure, a slit running up her leg. A diamond necklace adorned her collarbone, completing the illusion of wealth and privilege.

Alexander stepped beside her, looking effortlessly elegant in a tailored tuxedo. His presence was commanding, his posture relaxed but alert.

"You look stunning," he murmured.

Emma smirked. "So do you."

Marcus's voice crackled in their earpieces. "You two lovebirds done flirting? We've got work to do."

Emma rolled her eyes, adjusting the small earpiece hidden beneath her hair. "Remind me why we keep you around?"

"Because I make this fun," Marcus replied.

Alexander guided Emma toward the entrance, where security personnel in black suits scanned invitations. He handed over Vincent Laurent's credentials, his expression cool and confident.

The guard checked the information, then nodded. "Welcome, Monsieur Laurent. Enjoy your evening."

They stepped inside.

The grand ballroom was a spectacle of wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the guests, their laughter and conversation filling the vast space. The scent of expensive champagne and exotic perfumes lingered in the air.

Emma subtly scanned the crowd. Somewhere in this room was The Revenant.

"Any sign of him?" she whispered.

Alexander took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, his eyes sweeping the room. "Not yet."

Marcus's voice came through. "Security's heavy. Cameras in every corner, guards on every entrance. They're not messing around."

Emma lifted her champagne flute, pretending to sip. "Wonderful."

Alexander leaned slightly toward her. "Keep your guard up."

Emma smirked. "Always."

Then, her gaze landed on a man near the staircase.

Tall. Elegant. Dressed in a black suit with a silver pin shaped like a serpent wrapped around a dagger.

Emma's breath caught. The same emblem they had seen in the files.

"Alexander," she murmured.

He followed her gaze. His expression darkened.

Marcus's voice came through, sharp. "You seeing what I'm seeing?"

Emma nodded subtly.

The man turned his head slightly, speaking to someone nearby. Though his face remained calm, there was an unmistakable air of authority around him.

"That could be him," Emma whispered.

Alexander's jaw tightened. "Then we need to get closer."

Emma exhaled. "How do you want to play this?"

Alexander smirked. "We dance."

Before she could protest, he set down his champagne and took her hand, leading her toward the dance floor.

The orchestra played a slow, elegant waltz. Emma followed his lead, her body moving effortlessly with his.

"You could've warned me," she muttered.

Alexander chuckled. "Where's the fun in that?"

They swayed together, blending into the crowd as they gradually moved closer to their target.

The man in the serpent pin was now only a few feet away, deep in conversation with another guest.

Emma's pulse quickened.

They were getting closer.

And then—

The man lifted his gaze.

His piercing gray eyes locked onto Emma's.

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips.

Emma's breath hitched.

He knew.