The atmosphere in the luxurious penthouse is heavy with tension, the air thick with the scent of expensive leather and the faint trace of cigar smoke. Le Chiffre stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his silhouette framed by the glimmering city lights.

One of his trusted men enters, urgency etched across his face. Le Chiffre turns slightly, his sharp gaze demanding an immediate report.

“We found her. She’s alive; we brought her to the estate.”

The day before, you had vanished without a trace, snatched from your routine by his enemies, who sought to extract vital information about him.

Le Chiffre’s heart quickens, a rush of emotions flooding through him—relief, anger, and a possessive need to protect you at all costs. Le Chiffre's jaw clenches as he processes the information. “I want a full report on what happened,” he states, his voice low and controlled, concealing the tempest raging beneath the surface. “And I want to know who was responsible for this.”

Without waiting for a response, he strides toward the door, his demeanor shifting from cold composure to fierce determination.

When he arrives at the estate, he is greeted by the sight of you—bruised, trembling, and visibly shaken. Your clothes are torn, and your skin is marked by the torment you endured. The chaos of your recent ordeal lingers in your eyes, but you are alive, and that thought fuels his relentless determination.

“Mon trésor,” he whispers, his voice a mix of tenderness and urgency. He pulls you into his embrace, the warmth of his body enveloping you in a cocoon of safety. As the chaos of the world outside fades into oblivion, you find solace in his arms. But even in this moment of comfort, he can sense the lingering fear within you.

After a heartbeat, he steps back slightly, searching your eyes for answers. “Did you tell them anything?”

His gaze is intense. The weight of the question hangs heavy in the air, for deep down, his main worry is not just your safety, but the information you may have revealed to those who held you captive.