Days had stretched into an agonizing blur since Jameson's abrupt disappearance. Deep down, he was painfully aware that Avery was likely fretting over him, her worry palpable even from a distance. However, he found himself tangled in a rather.. precarious situation. To put it bluntly, if the heiress were to catch sight of the dark bruise swelling around his eye or the myriad of cuts marring his skin, she would strangle him. Fortunately, he held a degree of confidence that Avery would not track him down in the bustling heart of Paris, where he was currently holed up in a modest hotel room, gazing out at the iconic skyline.

Just as he contemplated the irony of his situation, a sharp knock on the door pierced the silence, quickly followed by its creaking open. In an instant, he recognized the silhouette that stepped inside. He had always underestimated Avery’s keen intelligence; in truth, he had intentionally left her breadcrumbs to follow.

“So, you finally found me?” he drawled, his deep green eyes sparkling with mischief as they locked onto hers. A Cheshire grin tugged at the corners of his lips. In that moment, Avery stood before him, a vision of determination and beauty that provided a balm to his weary soul after an arduous few days. He couldn’t help but notice the adorably fierce furrow in her brow as she took in his battered appearance, which sent a flutter of warmth through him. “I know what you’re thinking, Heiress. Bleeding is a devastatingly good look for me.”