As the hours dragged on in the most excruciating way possible, time itself seemed to move out of spite.
Drogo didn’t need to look at the clock to know when it happened.
The moment the hour hand kissed five, Karen’s boots struck the floor in sharp, angry strides, her footsteps echoing from the corner she had claimed all afternoon straight to the exit. The door was yanked open, then slammed shut with enough force to make the walls flinch.
Silence followed.
Drogo finally glanced at the clock.
5:00 p.m.
He exhaled, a low sound that curled into a quiet chuckle. Not amused, but satisfied. There was something fulfilling about small victories, even petty ones. Holding his ground, maintaining a line, and proving—if only to himself—that there were still boundaries she couldn’t bulldoze through with her spontaneity.
Drogo returned to his paperwork, pen gliding steadily, as if nothing at all had happened.
Karen walked home.
If it could even be called a walk.
She barely registered the rapid clicks of her boots’ heels before she was already on the neighborhood street, heading toward Mathieu’s apartment.
She walked briskly. The streets blurred past her as she headed straight for his place, her mind still buzzing from the word gift and the name she feared to hear attached to it.
Her father…
Her pace slowed the moment she reached the apartment.
Then she stopped—frozen.
Parked directly in front of Mathieu’s modest house, completely out of place like a bad joke with too much money, sat a Lamborghini.
Gold and polished, the vehicle was new enough to look unreal. The kind of car that didn’t belong anywhere near this sort of neighborhood.
People stood around the street. Neighbors and strangers stared openly as they whispered amongst themselves.
Karen’s brain stalled.
The front door creaked open.
Mathieu stepped out, casually chewing on a muffin like this was all perfectly normal. He spotted her immediately and lifted a hand in greeting.
“Hey,” he said easily. “You’re back. Took you long enough.”
She didn’t answer.
“Your boss missed you so much he didn’t want to let you off work?” he added, chewing loudly.
Karen’s eyes moved from him, to the car, and back to him again. Slowly—like her mind was buffering.
Mathieu walked over and leaned against the hood in a relaxed manner. “Surprise.”
She took a step forward. Then another.
Her fingers hovered just above the car, afraid it might vanish if she touched it.
“What is this?” she asked in a low voice, laced with disbelief.
He tilted his head. “Wow. That’s not the reaction I was expecting.”
Her gaze snapped to him.
Mathieu sighed theatrically. “Your father sent it. For you. Along with unfreezing all your assets.”
Her pupils dilated.
For a second, her expression fractured. The anger, tension, and edge she’d carried all day melted away—replaced by something startlingly younger. Softer. Like a child who had just been handed her favorite toy after a very long tantrum.
Mathieu grinned and pulled out his wallet, tossing it to her.
She caught it, flipping it open immediately.
Cards spilled out in a neat cascade, hanging from the wallet like a ridiculous magic trick. Black cards. Gold cards. Her name printed boldly across them.
Karen’s right eye twitched.
Suddenly, a high, unrestrained squeal burst out of her. She jumped in place, while their neighbors openly gawked at them by the car—the contrast between their cracked sidewalks and the wealth in her hands impossible to ignore.
She lunged for the car and yanked the door open, practically diving in.
“I LOVE YOU, DADDY!” she yelled, kicking her legs excitedly against the seat. “THANK YOU, THANK YOU—”
Mathieu watched from outside, chewing thoughtfully, amusement flickering across his face.
She hopped back out, circling the car, her hands running along the curves as laughter bubbled out of her like she couldn’t contain it.
Then she stopped in front of him, eyes bright. “Let’s go for a ride.”
“Nope.”
Hesitation wasn’t even a thought.
He turned and started walking away.
Karen immediately went after him. “Hey! C’mon!”
He didn’t even look back.
“The last time I went on a ride with you,” he said over his shoulder, “I got this.”
He tilted his head, sweeping his long red hair aside to reveal the thin scar etched behind his neck, tracing down his back.
“I’m not doing that again.”
“You don’t trust me?” she frowned.
“That was years ago,” she added quickly. “I’m a better driver now.”
He glared at her, sighting the soft gleam in her dilated eyes as she wore a sobbing grimace.
Mathieu rolled his eyes. “Fine…”
She squealed. “Yes!”
“But you better drive responsibly!”
“I swear to you!”
A few moments later—
“SLOW THE FUCK DOWN, WOMAN!”
Mathieu’s scream tore through the car as the Lamborghini tore down the highway, the engine roaring like it was being personally offended.
Karen laughed, wild and breathless, her fingernails digging into the wheel as the city lights blurred past.
Despite driving with one hand and the other still bandaged, it was of no concern to her and her speed.
He clutched the seat, his knuckles turning white.
“I regret everything!” he yelled.
She only laughed harder.
Somewhere in Karen’s adrenaline-flooded mind, reasoning waved a tiny white flag and gave up.
Mathieu was too busy keeping his heart in his chest.
She went on, “And now that I have all my money back, I think we should finally move out of that shit of a house.”
Mathieu groaned. Loudly.
“That is a terrible idea,” he said, rubbing his thudding skull. He was getting car sick. “We’re supposed to be undercover. Moving into anything luxurious is going to draw attention. The whole point is to blend in, not announce ourselves like a fireworks display.”
She scoffed. “Oh please. You cannot be this miserable. Don’t interrupt me.”
He opened his mouth anyway. “I said n—”
“I am not dying in that place,” she continued. “Do you know what kind of skin disease I could catch there? Or some poverty plague? I swear, one more night and I’ll start growing mushrooms.”
Mathieu rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Okay. Fine. We move. But not something loud. Not expensive. Not dramatic. A better apartment. Normal. Low-profile.”
She smiled sweetly. “Of course.”
A few hours later…
Karen stood at the center of the apartment, utterly still.
Her eyes stayed narrowed as she scrutinized the environment.
The floor-to-ceiling glass walls stretched around her, framing the city like a living painting. Light flooded the space, bouncing off polished marble floors and sleek surfaces that looked too expensive to touch without permission.
The ceiling soared high above, minimalist chandeliers suspended like artificial stars. Every piece of furniture was deliberate and elegant.
The kitchen gleamed—stainless steel, pristine counters, built-in everything. The living area flowed seamlessly into the balcony, where the city sprawled endlessly below.
Luxury breathed here.
Karen inhaled deeply.
Finally—real air.
Mathieu stood behind her with his arms crossed, already regretting his life choices.
She turned slowly, her brown eyes shining.
“We’ll take the upper-level floor,” she said decisively. “The entire thing.”
Mathieu stared at her.
No. No words were left in him to speak. Just a long, hollow stare.
“The… entire floor?” he asked faintly, as if he didn’t already know the answer.
“Yes.” She nodded, already walking toward the glass, her heels clicking confidently against the marble. “I like the height. Makes people feel small.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “Karen… this is exactly what I meant by loud.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Relax. It’s tasteful.”
“This apartment costs more than my will to live. And trust me, it’ll cost even more if your father finds out how much you spent in a day—and that I let you!”
“No one knows my exquisite taste better than my father.” She laughed and spread her arms. “Look at this place! Glass walls, open space, no mold. I can breathe here.”
Mathieu muttered, “We are so dead.”
Karen stepped onto the balcony, wind catching her hair as she looked out over the city. For a moment, something softer flickered across her face. Satisfaction. Relief. A dangerous sense of freedom.
“This is me getting my life back,” she said quietly. “Maybe Father will finally forgive me.”
Mathieu leaned against the doorway, watching her with narrowed eyes.
Of course, he thought.
This was Karen being only a fraction of who she was—if not for her father’s restraints.
…God help anyone standing too close.