BOUNDED TO THE BILLIONAIRE.

The night air was sharp, carrying the faint scent of rain and the distant hum of the city below.

Perched on the ledge of the Sinclair estate, Vivienne Voss inhaled deeply, steadying her pulse.

The billionaire's fortress of glass and steel loomed before her-a testament to power and wealth.

High-tech. Impenetrable to most. But she wasn't like most people.

Her mission was simple: kill Lucien Sinclair.

She adjusted the silencer on her pistol, the weight of the gun familiar and steady in her grasp.

Years of training had led her to this moment. Every breath and every muscle in her body was attuned to the task ahead. He wouldn't see it coming. No one ever did.

Vivienne had spent months studying the Sinclair estate. Security rotations, perimeter sensors,

camera blind spots-she had memorized every inch of the property. Slipping past the outer defenses was effortless.

She moved like a shadow through the estate's expansive grounds. Security cameras scanned the

area in slow, predictable sweeps, and she slipped between them with ease. Motion detectors lined the entry points, but she had already accounted for them. Using a remote device strapped to her wrist, she triggered a minor power fluctuation in the system-just enough to scramble the sensors for exactly three minutes.

Vivienne pressed herself against the cool stone wall, counting heartbeats. Then, she moved. Scaling the outer balcony, she landed soundlessly, rolling into a crouch. From here, she had a direct view into the study, where he was supposed to be. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows provided an unfiltered glimpse of the room's interior. A single lamp illuminated the sleek mahogany desk, its warm glow casting long shadows.

Lucien Sinclair was alone.

It went just as planned.

She exhaled, slow and steady. She lifted the sniper rifle she had brought, placing it on the

pavement of the building and aiming directly at the room he was in. The engraved bullet gleamed in the moonlight. His name, L. Sinclair, was etched into the casing, a silent promise of what was to come.

A final breath.

She lined up the shot, her finger hovering over the trigger- Then the lights went out. Darkness swallowed the estate in an instant. A second later, the weight of a body crashed into hers.

Vivienne twisted midair, her instincts kicking in before thought. She landed hard but not

helplessly, shifting her weight and using the momentum to flip her attacker. A sharp metallic

clang rang out as her sniper rifle skidded across the balcony, the bullet never firing.

Shit.

She barely had time to register what had happened before a hand clamped around her wrist, twisting her arm in a brutal hold. The gun in her other hand was useless-he had knocked it aside in the struggle. She went for her knife, but he anticipated the move, blocking effortlessly.

A voice, low and edged with amusement, whispered near her ear.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

Lucien Sinclair.

Vivienne bucked against his grip, but he was stronger than she expected. His hold was ironclad,

pressing her down against the floor with an infuriating level of control. Her frustration soared.

"You're good," he mused, his tone maddeningly casual despite the situation. "But not good enough."

Snarling, she twisted sharply, dislocating her shoulder to slip from his grasp. Pain flared, the hand shifting to a different position, but she ignored it. Instead, she used the sudden freedom to

drive her knee into his ribs.

The sharp impact stole his breath, a flash of something dangerous flickering across his face, pain,

irritation, maybe even anger. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same infuriating

smirk. She lunged for her pistol.

Lucien was faster.

With a smooth, calculated motion, he kicked the weapon across the floor, sending it spinning

into the shadows. Vivienne pivoted, feinting left before striking right, aiming for his throat.

He caught her wrist mid-swing. "Persistent," he noted, his voice a purr of amusement. "I like that."

Her free hand shot toward the knife strapped to her thigh. The blade glinted in the dim light as she slashed at him-but he anticipated it again, twisting her wrist until the knife clattered uselessly to the ground. He was good.

He moved like a man who had fought for his life before. Someone trained not just to defend but to dominate.

For the first time, unease slithered down her spine.

Lucien's grip tightened, and before she could counter, he flipped her onto her back. The impact

sent a jolt of pain through her body as he straddled her, pinning her arms above her head.

Vivienne thrashed, but it was useless. He was too heavy, too strong.

"Still so eager to fight?" His grip tightened just slightly, not quite as amused as before.

Rage burned in her chest. She glared up at him, breath ragged. "Go to hell."

Lucien chuckled, low and amused. His grip remained firm, but he tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Charming."

Vivienne's breath was heavy, her body still tensed for another attack. She was waiting- calculating. He could see it in her eyes. She wasn't the type to surrender, not even with the odds stacked against her.

"Who sent you?" he asked, voice steady, controlled.

She said nothing.

Lucien sighed, shifting his weight slightly, pressing his knee into her abdomen just enough to

make breathing difficult. Not enough to crush, but enough to remind her who was in control.

"You broke into my home," he continued, his tone almost conversational. "Took out my security.

Had a rifle ready. I assume this isn't a social call."

Vivienne's lips curled into a smirk despite the pressure against her ribs. "You talk too much."

He exhaled sharply, a mix of amusement and irritation. "And you have an attitude for someone who's about two seconds away from getting her throat slit."

Vivienne's muscles coiled beneath him, but she didn't fight. Not yet. She was waiting for an opening. Smart.

Lucien let the silence stretch between them. He could feel her heartbeat hammering beneath his

grip, see the faint glisten of sweat at her temple. He had interrogated enough people to know

when someone was truly afraid.

She wasn't. At least, not in the way most people were when staring death in the face.

His gaze flicked to the shadows where her weapons lay discarded. "You should've killed me when you had the chance."

Vivienne's smirk didn't waver. "Not my fault you weren't in your office."

Lucien chuckled again, but this time, there was something sharper in it. "Ah! Yes. You knew my

routine, and yet you're the one on the ground."

Her jaw tightened, but she held his gaze.

Lucien tilted his head. "That's gotta sting."

The words struck their mark, but she didn't take the bait. No flinch, no flicker of doubt.

Interesting.

Killing her would be easy. A quick strike, a clean end. The rational choice.

But something nagged at him. A hesitation. Barely there, but enough to make him pause.

He let out a slow breath, his fingers flexing against her wrists before he finally spoke again.

"Now let's try this again," he murmured, leaning in just slightly. "Who sent you?"