The first light of dawn crept through the heavy curtains of Devon's room, casting faint golden streaks across the polished hardwood floor, their glow barely touching the chaos of papers strewn across the desk.

Devon sat hunched over the catalogue file, its worn pages spread out, he hadn't slept, his eyes burning from hours of scrutiny, his fingers stained with ink from tracing the scrawled notes, addresses spanning Paris, Dubai, Tokyo, and obscure towns in Eastern Europe, each one a precise location for meetings held weekly, each in a new venue, each locked behind a unique passcode that shifted with every gathering.

The next event was surprisingly today, it loomed imminently scheduled from 12pm to dawn at a discreet place on the city's outskirts.

His mind churned, piecing together the puzzle, the weight of his discovery pressing against his chest a heady mix of adrenaline and dread.

The clock ticked past 8am, the city's hum growing louder beyond the window, a restless pulse that matched the tension coiling in Devon's body.

His muscles ached from the sleepless night, his shoulders knotted from hours bent over the desk, but his mind was razor-sharp, fueled by the stakes of what lay ahead. He stood, stretching, his joints popping softly, and moved to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to chase away the fatigue.

The hot shower that followed did little to ease the tightness in his shoulders, the steam filling the air as he let the water cascade over him.

He dressed quickly in a tailored black suit, the fabric crisp against his skin, the pistol tucked discreetly into his waistband, its cold grip a familiar anchor, grounding him in the face of the unknown. He checked the mirror, his reflection sharp, his smirk faint but resolute.

As he stepped out of his room, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final snap, Yvonne was already waiting in the hallway, her presence a commanding force that filled the space.

Her deep red blazer hugged her frame, its tailored lines accentuating her authority, her hair swept into an elegant updo that gleamed under the hallway's soft lighting. Her face, however, was a mask of stern resolve, her dark eyes locking onto him with a scrutiny that felt like a blade's edge.

"Good morning, Devon," she said, her voice cool, clipped, the greeting formal but laced with an undercurrent of tension, as if she were still waiting for answers he'd refused to give the night before.

Her eyes lingered, narrowing slightly, the same frustration flickering in their depths, a silent accusation that he was holding back. She turned without another word, her heels clicking sharply on the polished floor, leading the way to the elevator with a purposeful stride.

Devon followed, his brows knitting slightly at her demeanor, a flicker of unease passing through him. He masked it with a rough smile that didn't reach his eyes, his mind already racing with the implications of her presence.

As the elevator descended, the hum of its machinery a low drone, Yvonne broke the silence, her voice low but firm, carrying the weight of an order. "I'm coming with you to the exhibition today," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You have no problem with that right?"

Devon's brows furrowed deeper, a pulse of unease tightening his chest, but he nodded, his smile tightening, his voice light but guarded. "Sure thing," he said, his words casual but his thoughts anything but.

The exhibition day two of a high-profile art and antiquities event was a public affair, a world of polished surfaces and cultured chatter, a stark contrast to the secretive warehouse meeting he planned to infiltrate later.

Yvonne's insistence on accompanying him, combined with her stern demeanor, suggested she was tightening her grip, her suspicion of his silence about the warehouse growing like a shadow.

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to reveal the hotel's opulent lobby, its marble floors gleaming under chandeliers that cast a soft, golden glow.

Claudia stood waiting, her tailored black coat immaculate, her posture rigid, her eyes flicking to Devon with a quick, assessing glance before nodding to Yvonne, a silent acknowledgment of their shared purpose.

Outside, the morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of exhaust and fresh coffee from a nearby cafe, the city alive with the hum of traffic and the chatter of pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalks.

A sleek black limousine waited at the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the morning sun like dark mirrors, but what caught Devon's attention was the convoy surrounding it—six armored SUVs, their engines idling with a low growl, each bristling with guards in dark tactical gear, their faces carved from stone, their hands resting on holstered weapons, fingers twitching with readiness.

As Yvonne led him to the limousine, her heels clicking against the pavement, Devon glanced up, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a black helicopter hovering low in the sky, its blades slicing through the air with a steady, ominous thrum, trailing their path like a watchful predator.

The security was excessive, a fortress on wheels, and Yvonne's decision to deploy such a force spoke volumes about her paranoia or her knowledge of the threats circling him. He slid into the limousine beside her, the leather seats cool against his suit, the door shutting with a heavy thud that echoed like a warning.

Claudia took the front passenger seat, her voice sharp as she barked orders into a comms device, her words clipped and precise, coordinating the convoy's movements.

The convoy rolled out, the SUVs flanking the limousine like a military escort, their tires humming against the asphalt, the helicopter's shadow flickering overhead, a constant reminder of the cage Yvonne had built around him.

Devon leaned back, his eyes scanning the limousine's interior plush leather, a stocked minibar with crystal glasses glinting in the light, Yvonne's rigid posture beside him, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her stern expression unchanging, a mask of control that hid the storm beneath.

The silence between them was heavy, charged with unspoken questions, her frustration palpable in the way her fingers twitched, her gaze occasionally flicking to him, searching for cracks in his composure.

He kept his smirk in place, his thoughts locked on the meeting, the passcode burning in his mind, the location a clear map he'd memorized down to the last detail. But Yvonne's presence and the overwhelming security complicated his plans. Slipping away to the venue under this kind of scrutiny would be like threading a needle in a storm, and his mind churned with strategies, each one riskier than the last.

The city blurred past the tinted windows, its skyscrapers piercing the morning sky, neon signs still glowing faintly in the daylight, a vibrant backdrop to his calculations.

Yvonne's voice cut through the silence, sharp and sudden, her eyes still fixed ahead, though her tone carried a faint note of concern beneath the sternness. "You didn't sleep," she said, her words not a question but an observation, her gaze sliding to him now.

"I can tell. Those shadows under your eyes don't lie. What kept you up, Devon?" Her tone was casual, but the probe was clear, her eyes searching his face for any hint of what he was hiding, her frustration from the previous night still simmering.

He shrugged, his smirk unwavering, his tone light but evasive, a practiced deflection. "Just restless. Big day ahead." His eyes met hers briefly, then flicked back to the window, watching the city's pulse taxis weaving through traffic, pedestrians darting across crosswalks, the helicopter's shadow a dark stain on the pavement.

She was fishing, and she was his least of worries. He needed a plan to ditch her security detail without raising suspicion, and the weight of that challenge pressed against him like the pistol in his waistband. Yvonne's lips tightened, her fingers clenching in her lap, a flicker of irritation crossing her face, but she didn't press further, her silence a temporary retreat that felt more like a strategic pause, a predator biding her time.

The convoy pulled up to the exhibition venue, a sprawling glass-and-steel complex that gleamed in the morning sun, its sleek lines and towering windows reflecting the city's vibrancy like a polished jewel. Banners flanked the entrance, their bold colors advertising rare antiquities and modern art, the promise of treasures drawing a crowd of well-dressed attendees already gathering, their chatter a low hum against the morning breeze.

The limousine stopped, and before Devon could reach for the door, a guard opened it, his face a mask of grim determination, his eyes scanning the surroundings like a hawk searching for prey. More guards spilled from the SUVs, moving with military precision to form a tight perimeter around the limousine, their hands on their weapons, rifles at the ready, their postures rigid, as if expecting an attack from any shadow.

Devon stepped out, his boots hitting the pavement with a soft, deliberate thud, his brows furrowing as he took in the scene guards facing outward, their expressions promising swift annihilation to anything that moved too close, their rifles gleaming in the sunlight.

The helicopter circled above, its thrum a constant, oppressive reminder of Yvonne's iron grip on his safety or his leash. He glanced at Yvonne as she stepped out beside him, her stern expression unchanged, her eyes flicking over the guards with a nod of approval, her silence loud with unspoken control.

Her red blazer caught the light, a vivid slash of color against the monochrome severity of the security detail, her posture unwavering, a queen commanding her army.

Devon's gaze swept the area, the venue's glass walls reflecting the morning light, the crowd's chatter growing louder as attendees streamed toward the entrance, their designer suits and glittering jewelry a stark contrast to the guards' tactical gear.

Yvonne's security was a fortress, but it was also a cage, and his mind churned with the challenge of slipping away when the time came. The venue meeting was hours away,m, a ticking clock that urged him to act.

"See you later," he said, his voice light, his smirk faint as he nodded to her, his eyes catching the flicker of frustration in hers, a silent acknowledgment of the tension between them.

She hadn't forgiven him for his silence about the warehouse, and her stern demeanor was a clear message she was watching, waiting, and she wouldn't let him slip through her fingers easily.

He turned, his suit jacket shifting slightly, his hand brushing the pistol in his waistband as he walked toward the entrance, the guards parting to let him pass, their eyes tracking his every move like lasers.

His brows furrowed deeper as he glanced back at the convoy, the SUVs idling like predators, the helicopter still hovering like a dark omen, its blades slicing the air with relentless precision.

How was he supposed to break free from this kind of surveillance when the meeting was so close? The location was clear in his mind, but Yvonne's security was a labyrinth he'd need to navigate, a puzzle as complex as the file itself.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought for now, his smirk returning as he steeled himself. He'd find a way when it was time.

The exhibition hall stood tall in front of Devon, its wide entrance framed by dark stone and draped with green ivy, the heavy wooden doors etched with old carvings of strange creatures, opening with a low creak that sounded like a secret being spilled. The air inside was cool, smelling of old leather books and a hint of smoky incense, mixed with the soft buzz of people talking and the clink of fancy glasses.

Golden chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their light bouncing off shiny marble floors with colorful patterns, lighting up rows of treasures,jade statues, gold boxes with jewels, and bright woven rugs with gold threads all set on soft velvet stands, each one screaming money and power, the perfect place for the risky game Devon was caught up in.

He stepped inside, hands in his pocket, his boots tapping lightly on the marble, and a soft smile formed across his face.

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