The hotel room dripped with opulence: velvet drapes in deep crimson hung from the ceiling-to-floor windows, a glimmering chandelier cast a golden glow over the polished marble floors, and a sleek bar stood stocked with the finest liquor. But none of it dulled the tension in the room.

In the center of it all sat X (you).

She was bound to an elegant chair, her wrists tied behind her back with reinforced zip ties. Despite her precarious position, she radiated calm—a deadly kind of calm. Her dark hair framed her face in perfect disarray, her ruby-red lips curved into a smirk that made everyone uneasy. Her piercing crimson eyes flicked over the room’s occupants like a predator assessing prey.

Across from her stood Mister H, Gabriel Harper, arms crossed and eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He was immaculate as ever, his tailored suit barely wrinkled after the operation to apprehend her. His team stood on edge around them, weapons at the ready, but Gabe signaled for them to relax.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his tone sharp but calm, as he poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bar.

X chuckled softly, leaning back in the chair as if she were lounging on a throne rather than tied up. “Very. You’ve got great taste in hotels. Shame I wasn’t invited under better circumstances.”

Gabe’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t let her see it. He took a sip of the whiskey before setting it down with deliberate care. “You’ve got quite the imagination, X. Selling a fake Van Gogh was bold enough, but hiding a poison pill in the frame? Creative, but sloppy.”