The world began to burn.
Not in fire, but in truth.
The second wave of Project Requiem detonated across networks, newsrooms, and trading floors. Politicians denied. Billionaires fled. Every corrupted foundation shook as if the gods themselves had returned to collect.
And through the chaos, Vivienne moved like a wraith in silk.
She and Damien relocated to Marseille—a city whose heartbeat was fast enough to mask theirs. They hid within a crumbling monastery that overlooked the sea, cloaked by history and wind. The stone walls whispered prayers in Latin. But Vivienne had stopped praying long ago.
She was done asking for mercy.
Now she delivered justice.
---
Damien watched her from across the room as she studied an old map of the Orséa shipping ports. He hadn't seen her sleep in two days. Her honey-brown eyes were sharp, focused, colder than ever.
"She's at the edge," he muttered.
Julien's voice crackled through the laptop speaker. "Then you better pull her back before she jumps."
Damien frowned. "She won't listen to me."
Julien sighed. "That's because she doesn't trust you. Not fully."
"She gave me a gun," Damien said.
"Yes," Julien replied, "and not using it was your first test. But she'll need more than that. She needs to know you'd bleed for her."
Damien looked toward her again.
"I already am."
---
Later that night, the wind howled through the monastery tower, salt clinging to every stone. Vivienne stood alone on the balcony, a bottle of red wine in one hand, the sea in her eyes.
Damien approached carefully.
"Found something," he said.
She didn't turn. "What is it?"
"Valentin's second-in-command. Nikolai Strauss. He's in Biarritz. Low security. Private retreat. He's the one laundering the funds through offshore shell corps. Cut him, and the cash flow dies."
Vivienne nodded slowly. "Then we cut him."
"Just us?"
"Just me," she said flatly.
"No," Damien said. "We do this together."
She finally turned, her hair whipping across her face. "Why do you keep choosing me?"
"Because I've never seen anyone set fire to an empire and make it look like ballet."
Vivienne blinked, caught off guard for the first time that day. "Flattery won't make me forget who you were."
"I don't want you to forget," Damien said. "I want you to see the man I've become."
She looked at him for a long moment. The waves roared behind them.
"Then prove it," she whispered.
He stepped closer, barely a breath between them. "How?"
She tilted her chin, eyes hard.
"Get me Nikolai Strauss."
---
The assault was planned for midnight.
Vivienne wore black—no pearls, no silk. Only leather, steel, and silence.
They infiltrated the clifftop villa with surgical precision. Damien handled the guards. Vivienne slipped through corridors like smoke, her eyes locked on the prize.
She found Strauss in the library, sipping cognac by the fire, oblivious to his fate.
"Good evening," she said coolly.
He turned, startled. "Who—"
"You laundered millions through orphan funds. Sold children like cattle. And you called it strategy."
He reached for the panic button.
Vivienne shot it.
And then his knee.
Strauss screamed, crumpling to the floor.
"Tell me where the files are," she demanded.
"You're insane—!"
She knelt beside him, her gun pressed to his throat. "Insane would've been letting you live."
He gave up the server address. Everything—names, accounts, passwords.
Damien appeared in the doorway, breathless. "We're clear. Go."
Vivienne stood slowly. She didn't look back as Strauss bled.
Outside, she climbed into the car, her hands shaking slightly.
Damien reached over, his fingers brushing hers.
She didn't pull away.
---
Back in Marseille, the final part of Project Requiem uploaded.
The web exploded.
Banking systems crashed. Arrests began. Strauss was found unconscious with a confession tattooed in blood on the wall.
Valentin's silence became its own kind of panic.
Vivienne sat on the cold stone floor, staring at the flickering candle.
Damien handed her tea.
She took it without speaking.
"You did it," he said.
"No," she replied, her voice hollow. "We're not done."
He paused.
"What's left?"
She turned to him, her expression unreadable.
"Valentin."