Chapter 322: Bonjour Trauma, Croissants, and Cartels

Aria had exactly two hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours, and she was currently surviving on a dangerous cocktail of caffeine, spite, and sheer adrenaline.

The doors of Damien’s private Gulfstream G650 unsealed with a soft, pressurized hiss.

The crisp, freezing morning air of the French countryside instantly flooded the opulent cabin. It didn’t smell like New York exhaust. It smelled like wet earth, pine, and impending doom.

"Stay close," Damien murmured, his hand resting firmly on the small of Aria’s back as he guided her down the private jet’s stairs.

The Gulfstream had touched down at the VIP Exclusive Paris Terminal—a secluded, guarded airstrip reserved for global elites and diplomats who preferred to avoid the paparazzi.

Waiting for them on the wet, rain-slicked tarmac was a fleet of four matte-black Mercedes G-Wagons. Standing at rigid attention around the vehicles were a dozen armed private military contractors, dressed in dark tactical gear.

Aria pulled her hoodie tighter around her chest, shivering slightly.

Behind them, Jade stumbled down the jet stairs. She looked like a ghost. She was clutching her sweater, her eyes darting frantically between the wall of mercenaries and the terrifyingly calm billionaire standing next to Aria.

Jade swallowed hard.

"I... I can just call an Uber," Jade stammered, her voice pitching up into a nervous squeak as she clutched the handle of her suitcase. "You guys don’t have to drop me off. Seriously."

"Get in the car, Jade," Damien stated. His voice was a flat, deadpan monotone that left zero room for negotiation.

Jade didn’t argue. She practically sprinted toward the middle SUV, diving into the backseat.

Aria let out a tired sigh, sliding into the plush leather seat right next to her. Damien climbed in on Aria’s other side, the door shutting.

The motorcade pulled away from the airstrip, gliding seamlessly onto the French highway.

The silence inside the cabin was suffocating.

Jade sat huddled against the far passenger door, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked out the window at the passing countryside, a fresh wave of quiet tears tracking down her cheeks.

Aria watched her for a moment. She reached out, her fingers gently brushing Jade’s knee.

"Stop crying," Aria said softly. "He’s going to be okay. We are going to get Leo back."

"You don’t understand," Jade sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "The Vipers are monsters, Aria. They don’t take hostages to negotiate. They take hostages to send a message. Leo is a dead man."

"He isn’t dead," Damien interrupted smoothly, his eyes fixed on the winding road ahead. "If they wanted to send a message, they would have left his body in the hotel suite. He has leverage value. Which means we have time."

Jade peeked through her fingers, looking at Damien with a mixture of awe and terror.

Aria squeezed Jade’s knee. "Talk to me, Jade. Tell me exactly what we are walking into. Where are we going right now?"

Jade wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve, taking a shaky breath.

"We’re heading toward the Orpheus estate," Jade whispered, her voice trembling. "It’s in a rural village about an hour outside of Paris. But... you have to understand, Aria. The Orpheus Syndicate isn’t a syndicate anymore. Not really."

Aria frowned. "What do you mean?"

"They disbanded," Jade explained, looking down at her lap. "Years ago. When your mother ran away to America, she took something with her. Something that fractured the entire foundation of the French underworld. The Vipers seized control of the Marseille ports and the major supply lines. The Orpheus family... they lost everything. They are broke. They are hiding."

Aria’s chest tightened. "Then why did they send you and Leo to New York? If they’re hiding, why risk exposing themselves just to watch me?"

"Because Madame knew the Vipers were finally closing in," Jade confessed, her voice dropping into a hushed, fearful whisper. "We weren’t sent to hurt you, Aria. We were sent to protect you. You are family. Madame swore she would never let the Vipers touch Geneviève’s daughter."

Aria froze.

’Geneviève’s daughter.’

"Who is Madame?" Aria choked out.

Jade didn’t have to answer.

The SUV slowed down, turning off the main paved highway onto a long, winding dirt road lined with towering oak trees.

Damien’s jaw locked. He leaned forward, his golden eyes narrowing.

The motorcade rolled to a halt in a large, circular gravel driveway.

Aria peered out the window.

The house was a rustic, slightly overgrown, incredibly beautiful French chateau. The stone walls were covered in thick, dark green ivy, and the wooden shutters looked weathered by decades of rain.

It looked exactly like the kind of place a ghost would hide.

"Stay behind me," Damien commanded softly, stepping out of the SUV.

Aria didn’t listen.

She shoved her door open and stepped out onto the gravel, ignoring the dozen Sinclair operatives fanning out across the courtyard with their hands resting on their holsters.

Jade stumbled out behind her, clutching her suitcase, looking like she was walking to an execution.

The wooden front door of the chateau slowly creaked open.

Aria stopped dead in her tracks. Her breath hitched, catching painfully in her throat. Her heart slammed a frantic, deafening rhythm against her ribs.

Stepping out onto the stone porch of the estate was a woman.

She was dressed in a simple, elegant black cashmere turtleneck and tailored trousers. Her hair was pulled back into a sophisticated, low chignon. She stood perfectly still, her hands clasped loosely in front of her, staring down at the armada of black SUVs idling in her driveway.

Aria stared at her face.

It was impossible.

The sharp, aristocratic curve of her cheekbones. The delicate, elegant slope of her nose. The striking, vivid shade of her emerald green eyes.

Aria’s vision blurred with sudden tears. She felt like the ground had vanished beneath her feet.

The woman standing on the porch looked exactly like her mother.

It was an older, slightly more weathered version of the woman Aria had watched take her final breath ten years ago.

"Mom?" Aria whispered, the word tearing out of her throat in a raw, broken sob.

The woman on the porch didn’t flinch. Her expression was a mask of sorrow. She slowly descended the stone steps, her dark eyes locking onto Aria with an intensity that burned right through the chilly morning air.

They stood there in the courtyard, separated by only a few feet and a decade of secrets, staring at each other in silence.