The Last Affairs

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nown to a select few as the estate of secrets. The only sound was the slow creak of an old gramophone playing a low jazz hum. Elena Moreau, daughter of a powerful French diplomat and owner of a crumbling legacy, stood on the villa's balcony, watching the su

the run. Instead, the one woman who could either save him or destroy him was tangled in bedsheets and making soft gasps. They had met three weeks earlier in the elite banking district. Elena had come to claim a disputed account left by he

s had alre

sting elegant shadows. She had the presence of royalty, but her eyes betrayed exhaust

d the manner in which he evaluated a room like a person always preparing for betrayal. She had previo

ry. With hands open and dark eyes and wet hair, Damian had entered her room. No threats. No power play. He just looked at her as if she were the only place to be safe in a world that was falling apart. Their lovemaking was slow, deliberate. She guided his fingers across her hips as if writing a map of all the places she'd never let a man explore. When he entered her, it was not an invasion but a surrender as he reverently traced h

g her head to meet his eyes. I, too, am not. Below them, the sea raged. But in the

he seal with a letter opener before carefully lifting the flap. Inside: glossy photographs, too crisp, too damning. Images of her and Damian-lips press

s more than just a boutique heiress with a penchant for intrigue. She had just purchased a private vault at the Lausanne Bank at the same time that rumors of secret spy files and Cold War data caches surfaced again. Victor Lang would never believe her. Once her handler, now a bitter relic of a past operation gone sour, Vi

e photos into

hone. He did always. "Elena," his

ants Sophia's vault cleaned ou

this day would come," he rep

now an agency confessor and quiet protector, was the only person she trusted to cover her track

surfaced. Anya had always played the long game. Elena was aware that she had already made p

pathy and not enough spine. He'd loved her once, silently. Possibly still doe

ath na

bt. Trigger Sophia's jealousy. Use Victor's obsession to mislead the agency's focus. Accept it if it meant br

had always been de

. Her throat was holding her breath. There she was-years younger, her dark curls loose around her face, tangled in Damian's arms beneath the flickering neon of a Havana safe ho

am

ow, somebody was aware. A single sheet of paper fluttered out: "Retrieve the encrypted files from Sophia Delai

ture. Just a deman

number, which she had buried deep in her memory, burned into her mind like a bran

sink, she gave them one last glance. The he

And someone wanted her

fference, but inside Elena

d simpler operations with greater stakes in the past. However, the blackmailer had meticulously calculated her weakness. She couldn't ignore the th

evenge? O

ded entry codes, vault access protocols, and a way to disappear afte

ame the sec

ures. Ju

ing. Don't

lood r

ckmail. This was moni

were, they wer