Chapter 973:

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Giselle, eager to prove her worth, to show she was more than just a pretty face, took the bait. “More than freedom. I oversee the family’s most sensitive research and development projects.”

Hilliard’s eyes darkened for a fraction of a second. He leaned back, feigning a casual skepticism. “Sensitive, or just confidential? There’s a difference. It’s hard to imagine Donovan letting anyone near the real crown jewels.”

The subtle challenge worked like a key in a lock. Giselle’s back straightened. She couldn’t stand the thought of him underestimating her.

She set her glass down with a sharp click. “Let me show you something.”

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗀𝖺𝗅𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗌.𝖼𝗈𝗆

She led him not toward the stairs, but to a massive, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in a study off the main hall. Her hand pressed against a specific leather-bound volume, and a section of the wall slid silently inward, revealing a sleek, stainless-steel elevator door.

She scanned her thumbprint. The doors hissed open.

The elevator descended into the earth, the temperature dropping with every foot. It opened into a small, sterile, climate-controlled storage room.

Behind a sheet of thick, bulletproof glass, bathed in a cold blue light, sat a rack of small, frozen vials.

“This,” Giselle said, her voice filled with pride, “is the future. A compound that can fundamentally rewrite cellular structure.”

Hilliard’s gaze sharpened, locking onto the labels. He saw the chemical prefix: RK. It matched the intelligence Seraphina Moreau had given him about a rare neurotoxin. He watched Giselle’s face as she spoke, saw the flicker of something ugly and cruel in her eyes, a sick excitement. It confirmed everything.

His heart gave a single, hard thud against his ribs. He stepped closer, his dark eyes memorizing the alphanumeric codes on the vials.

Just as Giselle was about to elaborate, a sharp vibration buzzed from the pocket of her robe.

She glanced at the screen, and her expression soured. With an apologetic gesture to Hilliard, she stepped into the far corner of the small room to take the call.

It was Eleonora. Her voice was sharp, imperious, and loud enough for Hilliard to catch snippets. A harsh interrogation about her guest, about her plans for the evening.

Giselle argued back in a hushed, angry whisper, defending her right to entertain Hilliard.

Her back was to him.

It was all the time he needed. Ten seconds.

Hilliard’s hand moved smoothly to his cuff. He slipped the scanner from its housing. It was no bigger than his thumbnail. He pressed it against the digital control panel outside the glass, the device humming silently as it copied the access protocols and security data.

He had it.

When Giselle turned around, her face flushed with annoyance, he was standing exactly where she had left him, swirling the ice in his bourbon.

“My mother,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “She’s pathologically controlling.”

Hilliard’s expression was a mask of perfect sympathy. “Then perhaps I should stay,” he said, his voice a low, suggestive murmur. “It would be a shame to have your evening ruined. And it would certainly keep her spies from reporting that I left too early.”

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