07. The Noiree, Den of Threats

The room was suffocating. Chateau sat in the lounge, waiting Leonard to came. Around her, the guards posted by Amber lounged carelessly, their laughter grating against her nerves. They spoke in low, conspiratorial tones, their presence a reminder of where she was—deep in a den of wolves.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to stand. “Excuse me,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I… I need to step out for some air.”

One of the men, a tall, lanky figure with a crooked grin, glanced at her. “Amber said to stay put. Monsieur Hugues will come.”

Her hands clenched into fists. “I won’t go far. Just… outside the door. Please.”

The man shrugged. “Fine. But don't wander. You'll get lost, and I'm not hunting you down.”

The moment the door closed behind her, Chateau’s breath hitched. Her heart pounded as she took a tentative step down the hallway, her bare feet making no sound against the polished floor.

The air in the hallway was cold, but it did little to calm her racing heart. Chateau’s steps were hesitant, her bare feet moving soundlessly across the polished floor. The ornate decor felt oppressive, the grandeur laced with menace.

What am I doing here? she thought, the question swirling in her mind like a mantra. Every corner she turned felt more foreign than the last, every shadow seemed to stretch toward her like a predator.

That was when she heard it—Leonard’s voice.

Low, calm, and unmistakable, it carried through the still air like a lifeline. She followed the sound, her steps quickening, her breath shallow.

The voice led her to a door, slightly ajar. Light spilled out into the dim hallway, and she hesitated, her hand hovering near the frame. Slowly, carefully, she peeked inside.

The room was a mix of elegance and utility. Dark mahogany furniture contrasted with sleek, modern shelves lined with dossiers and ledgers. A large desk stood at the center, papers meticulously arranged despite the chaos brewing outside Lafleur’s headquarters. Leonard sat behind it, his posture relaxed, but his presence dominating.

Across from him, Giraud Maxence lounged in a leather chair, swirling a glass of brandy. His casual posture belied the sharp glint in his eyes, the kind that thrived on stirring trouble.

“Two shipments delayed this week,” Giraud started, breaking the silence. “Not like you to let things slip, Leonard. You getting sentimental on us?”

Leonard didn’t look up, his fingers gliding across the surface of a tablet. “The delays were anticipated. Everything is accounted for.”

Giraud chuckled, leaning forward. “Sure, sure. But you’ve been distracted lately, haven’t you? Dragging a girl into our world… It’s not like you. The merciless Leonard Hugues, babysitting?”

Leonard’s only response was the faint tap of his pen against the desk.

Undeterred, Giraud continued, his grin widening. “Come on, man. You’ve got to see the irony. The coldest bastard in Lafleur, running through enemy lines to save a damsel in distress? What’s next, writing her poetry?”

Giraud exhaled dramatically, swirling the brandy in his glass. “Fine, don't talk. But you've got to admit, it's a bit… inconvenient, no? Bringing her here, of all places? The tension's palpable. You've seen the way the boys look at her. Half of them are wondering what she's worth, and the other half are hoping you'll hand her over to smooth things out.”

At this, Leonard finally paused, his pen hovering mid-air.

“And then there's the little matter of her father's debts. Quite the price tag on her, isn't there? Seems like more trouble than she's worth. If I were you—”

Leonard's eyes flicked up, sharp and cold.

“—I'd cut my losses. A bullet, quick and clean, and we're all back to business as usual.”

The room fell deathly silent.

Leonard set down his pen with deliberate precision. Slowly, he reached into the drawer of his desk, pulling out a pistol. The soft metallic click as he chambered a round seemed to echo like thunder.

Giraud’s grin faltered, though he kept his tone light. “What, no sense of humor today?”

Leonard stood, his movements controlled, his gaze ice-cold as he leveled the gun at Giraud’s head.

“You won't say her name,” Leonard said, his voice low and calm, but charged with a buried rage that made the air crackle with tension.

Giraud raised his hands in mock surrender, though a bead of sweat formed on his temple. “Hey, hey, no need for theatrics. I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

"You don’t point out anything about her. You don’t speak her name. You don’t think about her. Is that clear?”

Giraud’s smirk wavered. “Crystal.”

Leonard’s finger rested lightly on the trigger, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the room felt suspended in time, the weight of his unspoken threat hanging heavy. Then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, he lowered the gun and returned it to the desk.

“Leave.”

Giraud stood, straightening his jacket with forced nonchalance. “You know, you’re playing a dangerous game, Leonard. If there's something she brought to doomed this family, I'm gonna take my own gun and give her what she deserves.”

Leonard didn’t respond, already turning his attention back to the papers on his desk.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Giraud added before walking out, the tension following him like a storm cloud.

As the door clicked shut, Leonard leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. For a man who never let emotions show, the faint twitch in his jaw betrayed the turmoil beneath.

But he quickly regained composure, returning to his work as if nothing had happened, though the image of Chateau’s face lingered at the edges of his mind.

***

Chateau’s breath hitched as she pressed herself into the shadows of the hallway, her hand clutching the edge of the wall for support. Her heart pounded, the sounds of Giraud’s words still echoing in her ears.

What if he kills me? What if Leonard kills me?

Her thoughts screamed as her body trembled uncontrollably. The weight of fear crashed down on her, mixing with the twisted darkness she had been dragged into.

Chateau thought she had finally accepted her fate; trusting Leonard since he was the only place Chateau had for refuge in this foreign world. But no, and supposed to no. Leonard was a villain—since from the start; he was the one who forced Chateau to follow him here after killing two people easily before his eyes. He was no salvation, so she chose to turn and ran.

Her feet pounded against the polished floors as she darted down the corridor, the sharp sound of her footsteps louder than the chaotic thrum of her heartbeat. She didn’t know where she was going—just away. Away from Leonard, who might kill her with a single command.

While back to the Noiree, Amber entered Leonard’s room, her steps purposeful but light, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.

“Where's my man? They said he'd been in your room.” Amber asked, glancing around.

"I'm not eager to keep your man around me." Amber stared at him in cold eyes.

"Well, I brought your lady here," she said, made Leonard lift his cold gaze, "have you met her? She was in the lounge, eager to see her savior since she opened her eyes this morning."

Leonard's his face unreadable. He straightened from his desk, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I haven’t seen her.”

Amber raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the room, a hint of curiosity in her tone. “What do you mean? She's not in the lounge anymore.”

Leonard’s eyes flickered with a quiet realization, a chill running down his spine. He stood frozen for a moment, then swiftly moved to the door and rushed out.