Chapter 7
This man was far more dangerous—and far more ruthless—than she'd ever imagined.
She had to get that necklace back.
With the housekeeper out shopping, Jessica finally had her chance. The villa was empty except for her.
Heart pounding, she crept upstairs and stopped outside Michael's master bedroom door.
Her pulse hammered in her ears as she gently pushed it open.
The room was as cold and precise as its owner—immaculate, austere, not a single item out of place. That familiar scent lingered in the air.
Jessica didn't dare linger. She headed straight for the walk-in closet.
The enormous space was lined with impeccably tailored suits and dress shirts, all arranged by shade in perfect gradation—evidence of an almost obsessive personality.
Holding her breath, Jessica began checking the pockets of each suit jacket one by one.
Just as she was about to give up, her fingertips brushed something cold and hard in the inner pocket of a charcoal gray suit.
Her heart leapt. She pulled out the chain.
It was Sarah's necklace—the clasp visibly broken.
She was about to slip it into her pocket when a glacial voice cut through the silence behind her.
"Looking for something?"
Jessica froze solid.
She turned slowly to find Michael's penetrating gaze fixed on her, his expression unreadable.
He was leaning against the doorframe of the closet, watching her with calculated interest. She had no idea when he'd returned.
"I… I…" Jessica's mind went blank. In her panic, she blurted out a pathetic excuse. "My blouse… I think I lost a button. I was looking to see if there were any spares…"
She tried to hide her clenched fist behind her back.
Michael's gaze traveled from her ashen face down to her white-knuckled hand—and the telltale glint of diamonds peeking through her fingers.
He didn't call out her obvious lie. Instead, a mocking smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Is that so?" He moved closer, his imposing frame radiating authority. "Since when do I keep spare buttons for women's clothing in my closet?"
His voice was calm, but it made Jessica's chest tighten until she could barely breathe. Even she didn't believe her own excuse.
He knew everything.
"Chief, I…" She wanted to explain, but every word felt hollow and useless.
Michael stopped in front of her, looking down with eyes that seemed to strip away her defenses and expose every lie, every secret. "Officer Brooks, let me remind you one last time—my patience is extremely limited."
He stared at her, clearly waiting for her to confess.
Jessica's scalp prickled under his scrutiny. She was on the verge of breaking.
Just then, his phone rang, shattering the suffocating standoff.
He answered. It was James. "The Professor's cargo ship is on the move. There's a last-minute deal happening tonight on the Poseidon, out in international waters. We need to move now."
"Copy that."
Michael hung up and glanced at the trembling Jessica, his tone returning to the detached professionalism of her superior. "We have a mission. Go change. Now."
He didn't press her about the necklace. He simply turned and left the closet, as if the confrontation had never happened.
Jessica slumped against the cold wardrobe, her legs nearly giving out beneath her.
She clutched the recovered necklace tightly, feeling like she'd just barely escaped with her life.
Half an hour later, the docks were shrouded in darkness. The massive Poseidon cruise ship blazed with light, a floating palace of excess.
Jessica had changed into sleek black slacks and a silk blouse, following Michael's lead.
Inside, the ship was a monument to indulgence—casinos, bars, ballrooms—all reeking of money and desire.
The guests were wealthy elites, their glittering facades concealing the sinister transaction about to unfold.
"Target's in the VIP casino on the top deck. Henry's overseeing it personally," Michael murmured near her ear, briefing her. "Your job is to monitor the perimeter. Use the micro-camera to record everyone entering or leaving the VIP room—especially anyone carrying a silver briefcase."
"Understood." Jessica nodded, forcing herself into work mode.
They crossed the crowded main casino floor and were heading toward the private elevator to the upper decks when a young man in a bartender's uniform passed by with a tray. He stopped abruptly when he saw them.
Recognition flickered across his face as his gaze bounced between Michael and Jessica.
Jessica's stomach dropped.
She knew that face.
It was the bartender from Velvet that night. The lighting had been dim, but she remembered him.
Clearly, he remembered them too. He scratched his head, his face lighting up with sudden realization. "Oh man, I knew I recognized you two! You were at Velvet that night, weren't you?"
Michael stopped mid-step, his brow furrowing slightly, confusion flashing through his dark eyes.
Jessica felt the blood drain from her face, her hands and feet going numb.
She instinctively wanted to grab Michael and get out of there—but it was too late.
The oblivious bartender kept talking, his tone cheerful and familiar. "That night really stuck with me. You looked pretty out of it, sir—this lady here had to help you into one of the private rooms. You two were in such a rush!"
