“Sir?” the gruff voice answered instantly.
I kept my eyes locked on Vance, watching the arrogant sneer on his face.
“Marcus,” I said quietly. “Initiate an absolute lockdown on the ground floor. Drop the magnetic seals on Cartier. Nobody gets in. Nobody gets out.”
I didn’t yell; I just pulled out my phone, bypassed the police, and dialed my chief of security to lock down every exit in the building.
CHAPTER 2: Locking the Cage
The sound wasn’t loud, but it was absolute. It was a heavy, metallic thunk that vibrated through the floorboards and the soles of my boots, followed immediately by the high-pitched, electronic whine of the magnetic seals engaging. The massive glass doors, framed in polished brass, didn’t just close—they fused with the frame. Above the entrance, a small LED indicator flickered from a soft, inviting green to a steady, predatory red.
For a heartbeat, the showroom went silent. Even the soft jazz seemed to retreat into the background.
Mr. Vance froze, his hand still hovering near the telephone on the velvet-topped counter. He looked at the door, then back at me, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “What was that? What did you just do?”
I didn’t answer him. I didn’t even look at him. My focus was entirely on Maya. She was still trembling, her fingers tangled in the fabric of the black blazer she had been forced to remove. I took the jacket from her limp hands and draped it gently over the back of a nearby leather chair.
“Stay close to me, Maya,” I said, my voice low and steady. I reached out and took her hand. Her skin was ice-cold, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the boutique. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
“Leo, what’s happening?” she whispered, her eyes darting toward the locked doors. “You can’t just lock people in here. That’s… that’s kidnapping or something. Mr. Vance is already going to call the police. You’re making it worse.”
I squeezed her hand gently. “I’m not making it worse, honey. I’m making sure nobody leaves until the truth does.”
Mrs. Kensington let out a sharp, jagged laugh that sounded more like a bark. She adjusted the strap of her crocodile purse, pulling it so high against her ribs that it looked like she was trying to merge with it. “The truth? The truth is that your little wife is a thief, and now you’ve gone and turned a simple shoplifting case into a hostage situation. You’re insane. You’re both going to prison.”
She marched toward the door, her heels clicking aggressively on the marble. “Open this door this instant! Do you have any idea who my husband is? He’s on the board of three different charities. He plays golf with the District Attorney. You are a nobody in a sweatshirt, and you are making the biggest mistake of your pathetic life.”
She reached for the heavy gold handle and yanked. The door didn’t budge. She pulled again, using her entire body weight, her face contorting with effort. The glass didn’t even rattle. It was like pulling on a mountain.
