Blood and Champagne

Chapter 2: The Vault

The room was too perfect.

Léa stood just inside the doorway, taking it all in. White orchids on the nightstand. Silk sheets. Gold fixtures in the ensuite bathroom. A closet bigger than her entire apartment. The scent of sandalwood and something sharper—expensive, masculine—clung to the air.

It was beautiful.

And it was a cage.

The guard had left without a word, locking the door behind her. She checked. The handle turned, but the bolt was firm. She was locked in. A prisoner wrapped in cashmere.

Léa walked to the window. Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooked the sea, black and endless. Somewhere beyond the cliffs, the city lights blinked. Marseille was close. But freedom felt an ocean away.

She backed away from the window and sat on the bed. Her hands were still trembling, her skin cold despite the room’s warmth.

The man in the cellar. His blood. The way Bastien had looked at her, calm and calculating. The way Cassian had smirked like he’d seen straight through her and liked what he found anyway.

She should’ve screamed. She should’ve fought harder. But there was no time to panic now.

Focus.

The files. Her father’s name. The Devereuxs.

They knew something. Bastien admitted it. And Cassian… he said he’d seen her father. That meant he was still alive when he came here. It meant something happened inside this estate.

And if Léa wanted answers, she’d have to survive long enough to find them.

A soft knock pulled her out of her thoughts.

The door opened—unlocked from the outside—and Cassian strolled in like he owned the place. No guards. No hesitation. Just him and that maddening smirk.

“I figured you might want something stronger than tap water,” he said, holding up a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Léa crossed her arms. “Do I look like I’m in the mood to drink with kidnappers?”

He shrugged. “You look like someone who needs something to keep her from shattering.”

He walked past her and uncorked the bottle at the small bar by the window. Poured two glasses. Handed one to her.

She didn’t take it.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Cassian leaned against the wall and took a sip from his glass. “To talk.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine,” he said. “Then I’ll talk. You listen.”

She said nothing, so he went on.

“You kissed me like a girl with nothing to lose. And now you’re standing in a palace like it’s a battlefield.”

“It is a battlefield,” she said.

“Good,” he replied. “Because I hate dancers. I like fighters.”

He took another sip.

Léa folded her arms tighter. “You said you saw my father the night he disappeared.”

Cassian’s expression darkened. The smirk faded. “Yeah. He came to the estate.”

“Why?”

“He had something on Bastien. Something big.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” Cassian said. “He left my sight. Hours later, he was gone. Bastien wouldn’t talk. The family closed ranks. The police dropped it like it never happened.”

Léa’s pulse raced. “And you just accepted that?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I didn’t.”

He stared at her like he wanted her to see the truth there. And for one strange second, she almost believed him.

But then she remembered the body.

And the blood.

And the way these brothers smiled with knives behind their teeth.

She stepped back. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re already in it now. Whether you like it or not. And I’d rather you stay alive.”

He set the wine down and started toward the door.

“Wait,” Léa said.

Cassian paused.

“Why did Bastien say I’d be ‘more comfortable’ here? What does that mean?”

Cassian hesitated. “It means he doesn’t want to kill you. Yet.”

Léa swallowed hard. “And you?”

He turned his head, just enough for her to see the edge of a grin. “I never wanted to kill you. I wanted to see you again.”

Then he left.

The door clicked shut.

And locked.

Léa exhaled slowly, sinking onto the bed. Her head was spinning.

If Bastien was the brain of the operation… Cassian was the match waiting to fall.

She had to be careful.

She had to be smarter.

Tomorrow, she would explore. Every hallway. Every room. Every secret.

And the first place she’d start?

That ballroom.

Because beneath all the glitter and dancing… there was something else. She’d seen it as they escorted her out.

A vault door.

Hidden behind the wine bar.

And if she knew anything about powerful men—it was this:

The ugliest truth is always behind locked doors.

---

The morning came too quickly.

Léa woke to pale sunlight spilling across the floor, but no sense of warmth. The air was too quiet. Too clean. Even the sheets smelled like power—crisp linen, luxury soap, and the faint trace of someone who thought they owned her.

She got dressed slowly, finding a neatly pressed outfit laid across the armchair: a soft cream blouse and black slacks. Her own clothes had vanished. Another reminder she was under someone’s thumb.

But she put them on.

Let them think she was compliant.

Let them underestimate her.

There was no knock this time. Just the door unlocking with a quiet click.

A guard stood outside. Not the silent, intimidating kind from last night—this one was leaner, younger, and looked vaguely bored.

“Breakfast is downstairs,” he said. “And you’re expected to eat.”

“Expected?” Léa asked, arching a brow.

“Orders,” he said flatly, then added, “You’re not under arrest. Just... under supervision.”

She gave him a tight smile. “Sounds charming.”

Still, she followed.

The hallways were even more intimidating in daylight. Oil paintings of stiff-faced ancestors. Antique vases. Doors with biometric scanners. Whatever the Devereuxs were running, it wasn’t just wealth—it was power wrapped in generations of control.

The dining room looked like something out of Versailles.

Bastien was already seated, reading a folder with surgical attention, a black coffee steaming beside his plate. He didn’t glance up when she walked in.

Cassian, on the other hand, was slouched in a chair at the far end, shirtless, eating a croissant like it had personally offended him.

“Nice of you to join us,” Cassian said, smirking. “Sleep well, or were the sheets too soft for your tragic backstory?”

Léa ignored him and sat at the only empty seat—right between them.

A housekeeper placed a plate in front of her. Eggs, fruit, fresh bread. She wasn’t hungry, but she needed the strength.

Bastien finally looked up. “You’ll have a routine while you’re here.”

“Oh good,” she said dryly. “I was hoping for a prison schedule.”

He didn’t smile. “You’ll eat here, under supervision. You’ll stay out of restricted areas. You’ll be escorted at all times.”

“And if I don’t comply?”

His gaze sharpened. “You’ve already seen what noncompliance looks like.”

Léa forced her voice to stay calm. “I didn’t kill him.”

“No,” Bastien said. “But someone in this house did. And until we know who… your safety is contingent on obedience.”

She scoffed. “Funny. That sounds a lot like a threat.”

“It’s not a threat,” Cassian said with his mouth full. “It’s a promise with manners.”

She glared at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He leaned forward. “I just like watching you figure out the rules. You’re dangerous when you’re angry.”

“Cassian,” Bastien warned.

Cassian held up his hands. “Relax, frère. I’m not touching her.”

“Don’t,” Bastien said sharply, turning back to his file. “This isn’t a game.”

Cassian’s smile faded just enough to reveal something colder underneath.

Léa took a bite of bread just to avoid looking at either of them. Her heart was thudding behind her ribs, but her brain was clear.

She needed access.

Answers.

And she’d already decided where to begin.

The vault.

After breakfast, she played along. Let the guard lead her to the library, where she pretended to read. Waited for the moment his attention slipped.

Then she slipped out.

Every hallway was a maze of surveillance and art. But she remembered the route. Left, then right, then the staircase down past the ballroom.

The music from last night echoed in her memory as she stepped onto the polished floor. Everything looked the same—too clean, too perfect—but behind the bar, there it was.

A steel door.

Square. Silent. Hidden behind a moveable panel that blended into the wall. She reached for it.

“Don’t.”

The voice was behind her.

Bastien.

He stood in the shadows by the piano like he’d been waiting for her. No jacket. Shirt sleeves rolled up. Watch gleaming.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“You said I wasn’t under arrest,” she said without turning around.

“I also said there are consequences.”

Léa faced him. “What’s in the vault?”

Silence.

Then, “Memories.”

She stepped closer. “You killed a man to protect what’s in there.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Bastien said quietly. “But I did clean it up.”

Her throat tightened. “Why?”

“Because some truths are too dangerous to live.”

“For who?” she asked. “You? Or me?”

His eyes darkened. “Yes.”

Léa didn’t back down. “My father came here ten years ago. He was following something. A story. A lead. Did he find this?”

Bastien’s jaw ticked. “He found something. But not the whole truth.”

She swallowed. “Then let me find it.”

“No.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

They were inches apart now.

And for one breathles

s moment, it didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like a challenge. Like he wanted her to push harder. Get closer.

Burn with him.

Léa looked him dead in the eyes. “I’m not leaving this place without the truth.”

Bastien’s voice was low. “Then prepare to pay the price.”